Philosophy  in  Poetry 


A  STUDr  OF  SIR  JOHN  DjyjES'S  POEM 
"NOSCE    TEJPSUM" 


BY 

E.   HERSHEY   SNEATH,  Ph.D. 

PROFESSOR   OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN   YALE  UNIVERSITY 


The  proper  study  of  mankind  it  nun 

Popf ,  Euay  on  Man 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1903 


J-ixuxw.rt.rv  X 


7^-ZLL^  .UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA    BARBARA 


D2.    A/^/ 


Copyright,  1905, 
Ey  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

All  rights  reserved. 


Published,  October,  1903. 


Tf"2r:5r 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS    .  JOHN  WILSON 
AND    SON     •     CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


The  acquisition  of  knowledge  is,  we  conceive,  always  tome- 
thing  high  and  honourable  :  but  one  form  of  knowledge  is  superior 
to  another  either  in  virtue  of  the  self<ontained  simplicity  of  its 
truths  or  by  the  greater  dignity  and  wondrousness  of  its  contents: 
and  on  both  these  grounds  the  investigation  of  the  soul  might 
with  justice  claim  a  torcmost  place. 

ARiSTOTtB,  Dc  Amnui,  Uans.  by  Wallace,  Bk.  1.,  Ch.  I.,  Sec,  i. 


.401994 


via  Preface 

of  the  subject.  Furthermore,  it  was  thought  that 
a  statement  of  the  position  of  the  philosopihical 
contents  of  the  poem  in  the  stream  of  speculative 
thought  might  be  of  special  service  to  students  of 
English  literature.  But  the  introduction  of  this 
material,  at  the  close  of  the  various  chapters,  has, 
to  a  certain  extent,  broken  the  continuity  of  the 
exposition.  The  only  alternatives  were  to  intro- 
duce this  matter  either  as  footnotes,  or  as  notes  at 
the  end  of  the  volume.  After  careful  considera- 
tion, the  method  adopted  seemed  less  distracting, 
and  more  in  accord  with  the  aim  of  the  volume 
than  the  others. 

The  author  gratefully  acknowledges  his  obliga- 
tions to  his  colleague,  Professor  Albert  S.  Cook,  of 
Yale  University,  for  valuable  suggestions  and  criti- 
cism in  the  final  revision  of  the  work. 


E.  H.  S. 


Yale  University, 

October,  1903. 


CONTENTS 

Paoi 

Introduction i 

Chatter 

I.    Biographical  Sketch.  —  Relation  to  the 

Age  and  to  I'receding  Thought    .    .  22 

II.    Of  Human  Knowledge 49 

III.    Means  uy  which  the  Soul  is  known  .     .  63 

I\'.    Reality  of  the  Soul.  —  Sensation amsm  .  80 

V.    Reality  OF  the  Soul.  —  Materialism   .     .  92 

VI.    Nature  OF  the  Soul.  —  Materialism    .     .  too 

VII.    Origin  of  the  Soul  in  Connection  with 

THE  Body 115 

\'11I.    The  Relation  of  Soul  and  Body    ...  141 

IX.    How  the   Soul   exercises  its  Powers  in 

the  Body 156 

X.    Im.mortality  of  the  Soul 179 

Conclusion 213 

APPENDIX. 

NOSCE   TeIPSU.M    .      .             221 


PREFACE 

SIR  JOHN  DAVIES'S  philosophical  poem, 
Xosce  Tcipsum,  is  regarded  by  competent 
critics  as  one  of  tl^e  firest  pieces  of  philosophi- 
cal verse  in  the  English  language.  It  is  really  a 
masterpiece  of  metrical  philosophy.  It  is  also  of 
importance  as  furnishing  an  insight  into  the  psy- 
chology and  philosophy  of  the  period  immediately 
preceding  the  birth  of  modern  philosophy.  How- 
ever, no  interpretation  of  the  poem,  tracing  its 
antecedents,  unfolding  its  speculative  contents,  and 
giving  them  an  historical  setting,  has  ever  been 
made  by  historian  or  essayist,  either  in  English 
literature  or  in  philosophy.  The  following  Study 
aims  to  supply  this  deficiency.  It  is,  therefore, 
hoped  that  it  may  prove  to  be  a  real  contribution 
to  the  literature  of  both  departments  of  learning, 
as  well  as  of  interest  to  the  intelligent  reader.  As 
the  poem  is  not  easily  accessible,  it  was  deemed 
advisable  to  publish  it  as  an  appendix  to  the  Study. 
The  text  is  taken  from  Grosart's  edition  (London, 
1876).  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  a  more  carefully 
edited  edition  of  the  text  is  not  available. 

A  study  of  the  sources  of  Davies's  philosophy 
was  of  course  necessary  for  a  scholarly  treatment 


PIIILOSOPIIY  IN  POETRY 

INTRODUCTION 

TT  is  an  interesting  and  noteworthy  fact  that 
English  poetry  has,  to  a  very  large  extent, 
concerned  itself  with  the  problems  of  philosophy. 
The  careful  student  of  English  verse  cannot  fail 
to  be  impressed  by  the  fact  that  England's  greatest 
poets  have  been  dependent,  in  no  small  measure, 
upon  these  problems  for  poetical  inspiration  and 
content.  Beginning  with  Spenser,  we  find  that  he 
presents,  in  the  Faery  Queen,  an  elaborate  system 
of  social  and  moral  philosoph)'.  In  a  letter  to 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  he  acknowledged  this  to  be  his 
aim.  And,  as  one  reads  this  interesting  and  beauti- 
ful poem,  noting  the  impersonation  of  the  virtues 
in  its  heroes,  he  can  trace  much  of  the  poet's  in- 
spiration to  the  Nicomacluan  Ethics  of  Aristotle. 
It  would  doubtless  be  drawing  upon  the  imagina- 
tion to  speak  of  Shakespeare  as  formulating  a  sys- 
tem of  philosophy.    But  it  is  certainly  within  the 


2  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

bounds  of  truth  to  say,  that  rarely  has  any  psychol- 
ogist or  moral  philosopher  portrayed  the  ethical 
life,  and  its  philosophical  implications,  with  greater 
accuracy  and  force  than  did  he.     The  supremacy 
of  conscience,  the  absoluteness  of  moral  law,  the 
freedom  of  the  human  will,    man's  responsibility 
for  conduct,  the  implications  of  the  moral  nature 
with  reference  to  God  and  Destiny,  these  are  sub- 
jects which  engaged  the  genius  of  England's  great- 
est poet,  and  which  he    treated  with  remarkable 
insight.     Milton,  like  Dante,  derived  much  inspi- 
ration from  the  problems  of  Christian  philosophy. 
Paradise  Lost  and  Paradise  Regained  show  that 
a  philosophy  of  evil,  and  a  philosophy  of  redemp- 
tion, inspired  poetry  which  for  grandeur  and  sub- 
limity is  hardly  surpassed  in  the  history  of  verse. 
Pope  chose  the  philosophical  problems  of  man's 
relation  to  the  cosmos,  his  relation  to  himself,  his 
relation  to  society,  and  his  conceptions  of  human 
happiness,   as    the    subjects    of  his    ch-ef  poetical 
work — the  Essay    on    Man.      Among  the  main 
sources  of  Shelley's  early  poetical  inspiration  was 
an  atheistic  and  anarchistic  philosophy.     The  very 
soul  of  Queen  Mab  is  a  philosophy  of  negation. 
And,  later,  in  Prometheus  Unbound,  the  questions 
of  social  philosophy  engaged  his  mind.     Words- 


IntrOiiuction  3 

worth   confessed   himself  ambitious  to  be  a  philo- 
sophic poet     A  philosophy  of  nature  as  well   as 
a  philosoph)'  of  society  seriously  commanded   his 
rcllective  and  xsthotic  powers.     And  Aubrey  De 
\'cre  is  not   far  afield   in   saying:    "He  is    Eng- 
land's   great    philosophic,  as  Shakespeare  is    her 
great  dramatic,  and  Milton  her  great  epic,  poet."* 
Coleridge  did  most  of  his  philosophizing  in  prose. 
lUit  it  is  interesting  to  note  how  intimately  related 
are  the  aesthetic  and  reflective  in  his  mind,  and  it 
is  difficult  to  resist  the  conviction,  that  they  v/ere 
mutually  helpful  in  his  poetizing  and  philosophiz- 
ing,    drowning  as  a  poet  is  greatly  indebted  to 
the  problems  of  philosophy.      Doubtless  more  of 
a  dramatic   psychologist  than   a   philosopher,  he 
nevertheless    thought   long    and  seriously  on   the 
profound  problems  of  a  philosophy  of  life;  and 
much  of  his  poetry  is  devoted  to  an   expression 
of  a  philosophical  optimism  which  is  the   result 
of  his  reflection.     With  regard  to  Tennyson,  it  has 
been  shown  elsewhere^  that  the  questions  of  God, 
Freedom,  and  Immortality — "the  inevitable  prob- 
lems," as  Kant  calls  them  — lie  at  the  very  roots 

1  Essays  chiefly  on  Poetry.     London  and   New  York,   1887, 
Vol.  I.  p.  177. 

'*  Sncath,  "The  Mind  of  Tennyson."    New  York,  1900. 


4  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

of  his  poetry.  They,  more  than  any  other  sub- 
ject, engaged  his  genius.  And  much  of  his  power 
over  the  hearts  and  minds  of  men  is  due  to  the 
consummate  manner  in  which  he  has  given  poetical 
expression  to  his  thought  on  these  fundamental 
questions. 

What  is  true  of  English  poetry  in  its  relation 
to  the  problems  of  philosophy,  is  true  of  the  great 
poetry  of  the  world.  The  great  poets  of  every 
age  and  of  every  nation  deal  with  the  fundamental 
problems  of  human  thought  and  life.  A  careful 
inquiry  into  the  history  of  poetry  —  both  ancient 
and  modern  —  reveals  the  fact  that  these  vital 
problems  of  thought  and  life  have  not  been  the 
exclusive  property  of  the  philosopher  and  theo- 
logian, but  that  the  poet  also  has  a  legitimate 
claim  upon  them,  having  established  it  by  the 
fact  that  these  problems  have  proven  to  be  a 
prolific  source  of  poetic  inspiration;  an  inex- 
haustible storehouse  of  poetic  content  or  subject- 
matter. 

Now  if  we  examine  the  method  of  the  poet's 
dealing  with  these  problems  we  shall  find  a  two- 
fold method  revealed.  The  poet  may  be  pos- 
scssc'l  of  an  intuitive  power  by  which  he  gains 
an  almost  immediate   insight    into  the  nature  of 


hUroJuction  5 

Truth  and  Reality.  Or,  like  the  average  philos- 
oplicr,  he  may  reach  a  knowledge  of  such  Truth 
and  Reality  by  a  long  and  carefully  sustained 
process  of  reasoning.  In  the  first  case,  we  have 
intuitive  philosophy;  in  the  second,  reasoned  phi- 
losophy. In  the  first  case,  we  have  merely  a 
rcct)rd  of  intuitions,  clothed  often  in  highly  im- 
aginative and  descriptive  poetry.  In  the  second 
case,  we  have  philosophizing  in  verse  —  a  state- 
ment of  positions,  and  an  elaborate  poetical  pres- 
entation of  the  process  of  reasoning  by  which 
those  positions  were  attained.  Undoubtedly  the 
greater  portion  of  philosophical  poetry  is  of  the 
intuitive  order.  It  is  an  immediate  envisagement 
of  Truth  and  Reality.  This  is  what  we  should 
naturally  expect.  The  poet's  mind,  as  a  rule, 
proceeds  synthetically  rather  than  analytically  and 
discursively,  as  do  the  minds  of  the  scientist  and 
philosopher.  He  grasps  the  unity  in  the  manifold, 
the  one  in  the  many,  generally  by  an  act  of  poetic 
intuition  rather  than  by  a  long  process  of  analysis 
and  generalization,  or  by  a  severe  and  sustained 
method  of  reasoning.  As  to  whether  his  intuitions 
arc  as  valid  as  arc  their  generalizations  reached  by 
induction  and  deduction,  individual  opinions  will 
differ.     But  some  there  be  who  will  not  deny  that 


6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

the  heart  of  Reality  may  be  pierced  as  truly  by 
such  intuition  as  by  logical  inference. 

But  all  philosophical  poetry  is  not  of  the  in- 
tuitive order.  There  are  poetic  minds  which,  in 
their  pursuit  of  ultimate  Truth  and  Reality,  pro- 
ceed by  the  ordinary  methods  of  philosophy  — 
minds  that  really  philosophize  —  that  move  by 
the  slow,  careful,  and  toilsome  processes  of  reason- 
ing to  the  attainment  of  knowledge;  and,  having 
reached  conclusions  by  such  methods,  these  are 
embodied  in  verse.  These  minds  are,  more 
strictly  speaking,  the  philosophical  poets.  They 
are,  however,  undoubtedly  aided  by  the  poetic  na- 
ture in  their  pursuit  of  truth  in  some  other  man- 
ner than  by  direct  intuition,  for  cognition  is  not 
solely  a  matter  of  the  intellectual  nature  of  man. 
The  aesthetic  nature  shares  largely  in  the  pursuit 
of  knowledge.  There  are  aesthetic  momenta  in  hu- 
man knowledge  which  superficial  analysis  is  wont 
to  overlook.  Much  of  scientific  generalization 
and  philosophic  conclusion  is  not  mere  inference 
from  bare  fact  of  experience.  Such  generaliza- 
tion and  conclusion  frequently  carry  us  beyond 
what  rigid  logical  inference  would  justify.  Man 
enters  upon  the  study  of  phenomena  and  Reality 
with  conceptions  of,  and  a  love  for,  order,  propor- 


IntroJihtion  7 

tion,  sNinmctry,  and  harmony  —  with  aesthetic 
iilcals  and  fcchnj^s  —  and  insists  tliat  an  inter- 
pretation of  the  facts  of  science,  and  the  Reality 
of  pliilosophy,  satisfy  these  aesthetic  elements  of 
human  nature.  The  history  of  science  and  philos- 
opliy  bears  testimony  to  the  fact.  Neitlier  science 
nor  philosophy  can  establish,  by  strictly  logical 
inference,  a  world  of  order  and  law,  of  harmony 
and  proportion,  a  world  of  system.  These  are  pos- 
tulates having  chiefly  an  a.'sthctic  warrant,  rather 
tlian  the  warrant  of  strict  logical  inference  from 
brute  fact.  1  hey  are  none  the  less  valid  for  all 
that.  The  fact  is,  that  man  is  not  merely  logical 
intellect,  but  a:sthetic  life  and  feeling;  and  Truth 
and  Reality  reveal  themselves  to  man  not  merely  as^ 
intellectual,  but  also  as  a;sthetical.  And,  as  we  dis- 
tinguish the  poet  who  deals  with  the  problems  of 
philosophy  according  to  the  usual  methods  of  the 
philosopher  from  the  poet  who  deals  with  them  by 
intuition ;  so  we  may  distinguish  the  poet-philos- 
opher from  the  mere  philosopher,  not  simply  by 
the  fact  that  the  former  records  his  reasoning  and 
conclusions  with  respect  to  ultimate  Truth  and 
Reality  in  verse  instead  of  prose,  but  also  by  the 
fact,  that  in  his  actual  pursuit  of  knowledge  the 
aesthetic  life    figures    more    conspicuously  in   his 


8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

attainment  of  conclusions  than  it  does  in  the  case 
of  the  mere  philosopher. 

Now  one  of  the  most  remarkable  examples  of 
actual  philosophizing  in  verse  is  found  in  Sir  John 
Davics's  poem  —  Nosce  Teipsiim.  A  sixteenth- 
century  production,  to  many  students  of  litera- 
ture and  philosophy  it  belongs  almost  to  the 
category  of  "  half-forgotten  lore."  Indeed,  it  is 
questionable  whether  the  poem  is  known  at  all 
to  the  large  majority  of  students  of  philosophy.^ 
However,  it  is  worthy  of  a  much  better  fate. 
Were  an  excuse  needed  for  calling  attention  to 
this  notable  production,  it  could  easily  be  found 
in  the  fact  that,  almost  by  common  consent 
among  competent  literary  critics,  it  is  pronounced 
one  of  the  best  examples  of  philosophical  poetry 
in  our  language.  An  excuse  could  be  found  also 
in  the  historical  significance  of  the  poem.  That 
the  first  statement  is  correct  will  be  apparent 
from  an  examination  of  the  following  record  of 
critical  opinion :  — 

Beginning  with  estimates  of  some  of  the  earlier 
writers,  Elizabeth  Cooper,  in  her  judgment  of 
Davies,  says:    "[He]  left  behind  Him  more  val- 

1  Of  the  many  recognized  histories  of  philosophy,  the  poem 
b  mentioned  by  only  one. 


httroJuition  p 

liable  Witnesses  of  liis  Merit,  than  all  the  Titles 
that  Heraldry  can  invent,  or  Monarchs  bestow: 
1  lie  joint  Applauses  of  Cambden^  Sir  John  Har- 
iuj^ioft,  Inn  Johnson,  Seliicn,  Von  ft,  Corbet,  &c.  I 
These  are  great,  and  iinciuestionable  Authorities 
in  Favour  of  this  Author;  and  I  shall  only  pre- 
sume to  add.  That,  in  my  humble  Opinion,  no 
Philosophical  Writer,  I  have  met  with,  ever  ex- 
plain'd  their  Ideas  more  clearly,  or  familiarly  even 
in  Prose;  or  any  so  beautifully  or  harmoniously 
in  Verse.  There  is  a  peculiar  Happiness  in  '"'s 
Similies,  being  introduc'd  to  illustrate,  more  tl.a»» 
adorn;  which  rcn-^ers  them  as  useful,  as  enter- 
taining; and  distinguishes  his  from  those  of  every 
other  Author."^ 

In  the  next  place,  George  Ellis,  after  referring 
to  the  fact  that  the  Thcatrnm  Poctartim  contains 
the  names  of  seventy-four  poets  belonging  to  the 
Elizabethan  period,  and  to  the  further  fact  that 
most  of  them  have  been  "  consigned  to  oblivion," 
remarks,  that  "  a  few,  such  as  Drayton,  Fairfax, 
Warner,  Sir  John  Harrington,  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  &c.  continue  to  be  cited  in 
deference  to  their  ancient  reputation ;  but  Shak- 
speare,  Jonson,  Fletcher,  Spenser,  and    Sir  John 

^  "  The  Muses'  Library,"  2d  cd.     London,  Vol.  L  p.  332. 


w  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Davies,  are  still  confessed  to  be  unrivalled  in  their 
several  styles  of  composition,  although  near  two 
centuries  have  elapsed,  during  which  the  progress 
of  literature  and  the  improvement  of  our  language 
have  been  constant  and  uninterrupted."  ^  He 
further  adds  with  respect  to  Davies :  "  His  poem 
on  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul  is  a  noble  mon- 
ument of  his  learning,  acuteness,  command  of 
language,  and  facility  of  versification.  His  sim- 
ilies  (as  Mrs.  Cooper  and  Mr.  Headley  have  justly 
observed)  arc  singularly  happy;  always  enlivening, 
and  often  illustrating  his  abstruse  and  difficult 
subject."  2 

More  favorable  still  is  the  critical  estimate  of 
Hallam.  He  says:  "Perhaps  no  language  can 
produce  a  poem,  extending  to  so  great  a  length, 
of  more  condensation  of  thought,  or  in  which 
fewer  languid  verses  will  be  found.  .  .  .  Lines 
there  are  in  Davies  which  far  outweigh  much 
of  the  descriptive  and  imaginative  poetry  of  the 
last  two  centuries,  whether  we  estimate  them  by 
the  pleasure  they  impart  to  us,  or  by  the  in- 
tellectual   vigour   they   display.     Experience   has 

*  "Specimens  of  tlie  Early  English   I'octs."     London,  1811, 
Vol.  II.,  pp.  157-158. 
2  Ibid.,  Vol.  II.  p.  369. 


Introduction  it 

shown  tliat  the  faculties  peculiarly  deemed  poet- 
ical arc  frcciuciitly  exhibited  in  a  considerable 
degree,  but  very  few  have  been  able  to  preserve 
a  perspicuous  brevity  without  stiflfncss  or  pedantry 
(allowance  made  for  the  subject  and  the  times), 
in  metaphysical  reasoning,  so  successfully  as  Sir 
John  Davies."  ' 

Essentially  the   same   view   of  Davies   is  taken 
b\'    Campbell,    who    sa)'s :     "  Davies's    poem    on 
the  Immoitality  of  the  Soul,  entitled  '  Nosce  tcip- 
sinn,'   will  convey  a  much   more   favourable   idea 
of  metaph)-sical  poetry  than  the  wittiest  effusions 
of  Uonne   and   his   followers,     Davies  carried  ab- 
stract reasoning   into  verse  with  an  acuteness  and 
felicity  which    have    seldom   been   equalled.      He 
reasons,  undoubtedly,  with  too  much  labour,  for- 
mality,  and    subtlety,  to  afford    uniform   poetical 
pleasure.     The   generality  of  his   stanzas  exhibit 
hard  arguments  interwoven  with  the  pliant  mate- 
rials of  fancy  so  closely,  that   we  may  compare 
them  to  a  texture  of  cloth  and  metallic  threads, 
which    is   cold    and    stiff,    while    it   is    splendidly 
curious.     There   is   this   difference,    however,   be- 
tween Davies  and  the  commonly  styled  metaphys- 

*  "  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe."     London,  1839, 
Vol.  IL  pp.  314-315. 


12  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

ical  poets,  that  Ae  argues  like  a  hard  thinker,  and 
t/icjf,  for  the  most  part,  like  madmen.     If  we  con- 
quer the  drier  parts  of  Davies's  poem,  and  bestow 
a  little  attention  on  thoughts  which  were  meant, 
not  to  gratify  the  indolence,  but  to  challenge  the 
activity  of  the  mind,  we  shall  find  in  the  entire 
essay  fresh  beauties  at  every  perusal :  for  in  the 
happier  parts  we  come  to  logical  truths  so  well 
illustrated  by  ingenious  similes,  that  we  know  not 
whether  to  call  the  thoughts  more  poetically  or 
philosophically   just.      The  judgment   and    fancy 
are    reconciled,   and    the    imagery   of   the   poem 
seems  to  start  more  vividly  from  the  surrounding 
shades  of  abstraction."  * 

Again,  Professor  Craik  pays  this  high  tribute 
to  Nosce  Tcipsnm  and  its  author :  •'  [The  poem] 
is  written  in  rhyme,  in  the  common  heroic  ten- 
syllable  verse,  but  disposed  in  quatrains,  like  the 
early  play  of  Misogonus  already  mentioned,  and 
other  poetry  of  the  same  era,  or  like  Sir  Thomas 
Ovcrbury's  poem  of  The  Wife,  the  Gondibert  of 
Sir  William  Davenant,  and  the  Annus  Mirabilis 
of  Dryden,  at  a  later  period.  No  one  of  these 
writers  has  managed   this  difficult  stanza  so  suc- 

'  "  r.ssay  on  F.nK'ish   Poetry,"  prefixed  to  "  Specimens  of  th*? 
British  rocts,"  2d  cd.     London,  1841,  Pt.  II.  p.  Ixx. 


IntroJuctioK  i) 

ccssfuUy  as  Davics :  it  has  the  disadvantage  of 
requiring  tlie  sense  to  be  in  general  closed  at 
certain  regularly  antl  (juickly  recurring  turns, 
which  yet  are  very  ill  adapted  for  an  effective 
pause;  and  even  all  the  skill  of  Dryden  has  been 
unable  to  free  it  from  a  certain  air  of  monotony 
and  languor,  —  a  circumstance  of  which  that  poet 
may  be  supposed  to  have  been  himself  sensible, 
since  he  wholly  abandoned  it  after  one  or  two 
early  attempts.  Davics,  however,  has  conquered 
its  difficukics ;  and,  as  has  been  observed,  '  per- 
haps no  language  can  produce  a  poem,  extending 
to  so  great  a  length,  of  more  condensation  of 
thought,  or  in  which  fewer  languid  verses  will  be 
found.'  ^  In  fact,  it  is  by  this  condensation  and 
sententious  brevity,  so  carefully  filed  and  elab- 
orated, however,  as  to  involve  no  sacrifice  of 
perspicuity  or  fulness  of  expression,  that  he  has 
attained  his  end.  Every  quatrain  is  a  pointed 
expression  of  a  separate  thought:,  like  one  of 
Rochcfoucault's  Maxims;  each  thought  being,  by 
great  skill  and  painstaking  in  the  packing,  made 
exactly  to  fit  and  to  fill  the  same  casc."^ 

*  Ilallam,  "  Lit.  of  F.urojje,"  II.  p.  227. 

2  "A  Compendious  History  of  Englibh  Literature."    New  York, 
1863,  Vol.  L  p.  573. 


14  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

An  American  critic,  Edwin  P.  Whipple,  speaks 
of  Davies  and  his  celebrated  poem  as  follows: 
"  It  is  usual  among  critics,  even  such  critics  as 
Hallam  and  Campbell,  to  decide  that  the  imagi- 
native power  of  the  poem  on  the  '  Immortality  of 
the  Soul '  consists  in  the  illustration  of  the  argu- 
ments rather  than  in  the  perception  of  the  prem- 
ises. But  the  truth  would  seem  to  be  that  the 
author  exhibits  his  imagination  more  in  his  insight 
than  in  his  imagery.  The  poetic  excellence  of  the 
work  comes  from  the  power  of  clear,  steady  be- 
holding of  spiritual  facts  with  the  spiritual  eye, — 
of  beholding  them  so  clearly  that  the  task  of  stat- 
ing, illustrating,  and  reasoning  from  them  is  per- 
formed with  masterly  ease."  ^ 

George  MacDonald  also  holds  our  poet's  work 
in  high  esteem.     Referring  to  Nosce  Tcipsiun,  he 

'  says:   "  It  is  a  wonderful  instance  of  what  can  be 

i 

done  for  metaphysics  in  verse,  and  by  means  of 
\  imagination  or  poetic  embodiment  generally.  .  .  . 

Sir  John  Davies's  treatise  is  not  only  far  more 
j  poetic  in  image  and  utterance  than  that  of  Lord 

Brooke,  but  is  far  more  clear  in  argument  and  firm 

;  in  expression  as  well."  ^ 

^  "The  Literature  of  the  Age  of  Klizalieth."      Hoston,  1S69, 
,  p;>-  23y-2.jo. 
\       ^  "  England's  Antiphon,"  pp.  105-106. 


Introduction  75 

Grosart,  the  editor  of  Davies's  works,  says: 
"The  nicety  and  daintiness  of  workmanship,  the 
involute  and  nevertheless  firmly-completed  and 
manifested  imagery  of  '  Nosce  Teipsum '  where- 
with this  nicety  and  daintiness  arc  wrought,  place 
Sir  John  Davies  artistically  among  the  finest  of 
our  Poets."  ^  And  again:  '**  Nosce  Teipsum  '  as 
it  was  practically  the  earliest  so  it  remains  the 
most  remarkable  example  of  deep  refiective-mcdi- 
tative  thinking  in  verse  in  our  language  or  in  any 
language."^ 

Henry  Morlcy,  also,  joins  with  the  critics  in 
praise  of  Nosce  Tcipsuvi.  lie  says:  "  Its  stanzas 
of  elegiac  verse  were  so  well  packed  with  thought, 
always  neatly  contained  within  the  limit  of  each 
stanza,  that  wc  shall  afterwards  have  to  trace  back 
to  this  poem  the  adoption  of  its  measure  as,  for  a 
time,  our  '  heroic  stanza.*"^ 

Of  similar  character  is  the  judgment  of  J.  W. 
Hales:  "In  the  kingdom  of  poetry,  as  has  been 
said,  are  many  mansions,  and  undoubtedly  one 
of  these    belongs   to    Sir   John    Davies,    however 

1  "The  Complete  Poems  of  Sir  John  Davies."  London,  1876, 
Vol.  I.,  Mem.  Int.  p.  Ixxxiii. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  Ix. 

'  "  A  First  Sketch  of  English  Literature."  London,  1886^ 
p.  459. 


1 6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

we  may  describe  it,  however  we  may  censure  its 
style  and  arrangement.  Far  be  from  us  any  such 
critical  or  scholastic  formulae  as  would  prevent  us 
from  all  due  appreciation  of  such  refined,  imagi- 
native thought  and  subtle,  finished  workmanship, 
as  mark  the  first  notable  philosophical  poem  of 
our  literature."^ 

Edmund  Gosse  also  accords  our  author  high 
praise.  He  says:  "Sir  John  Davics,  whose  philo- 
sophical poems  were  among  the  most  original 
and  beautiful  literary  productions  of  the  close  of 
Eli/rabeth's  reign,  was  suddenly  silenced  by  the 
admiration  James  I.  conceived  for  his  judgment 
in  practical  affairs,  and  was  henceforth  wholly  ab- 
sorbed in  politics.  But  an  examination  of  Davics' 
work,  had  we  space  for  it  here,  would  form  no 
ill  preparation  for  the  study  of  several  classes  of 
Jacobean  poetry.  lie  was  eminently  a  writer  be- 
fore his  time.  His  extremely  ingenious  Orchestra^ 
a  poem  on  dancing,  has  much  in  it  that  suggests 
the  Fletchers  on  one  side  and  Donne  on  the  other, 
while  his  more  celebrated  magnum  opus  of  the 
Nosce  Tcipsnm  is  the  general  precursor  of  all  the 
school  of  metaphj'sical  ingenuity  and  argumen- 
tative imagination."  ^ 

1  "  Folia  Litteraria,"  p.  163. 

*  "  The  Jacobean  Poets."    London,  1894,  ch.  i.  pp.  8-9. 


Introduction  ij 

The  number  of  these  favorable  critical  estimates 
niij^jlit  easily  be  increased,  but  those  given  are 
enough,  and  sufficiently  representative,  to  show 
that  Davies  is  regarded  by  competent  critical 
thought,  not  only  as  an  artistic  poet,  but  as  one 
of  the  foremost  writers  of  philosophy  in  verse  in 
English  poetry.  This  is  no  small  merit,  when  we 
remember  how  largely  poetry  is  dependent  upon 
philosophy  for  her  inspiration  and  content.  It 
has  been  shown,  by  an  appeal  to  the  history  of 
poetry,  that  the  greatest  poets  have  been  those  who 
have  drunk  from  the  cup  of  Philosophy.  To  think 
clearly  on  philosophical  themes,  and  to  present 
one's  thinking  in  remarkably  perfected  verse,  is  a 
distinction  that  any  poet  might  well  covet.  In 
the  judgment  of  the  critics  this  is  a  distinction 
which  Davies  undoubtedly  possesses.  In  an  elab- 
orate poem,  without  diffuseness  of  thought  or 
language,  he  proceeds  carefully  as  a  thinker  and 
an  artist,  or  rather  as  an  artist-thinker,  to  work 
out  a  solution  of  some  of  the  profoundest  prob- 
lems that  can  engage  the  human  mind,  and  to 
present,  in  genuinely  artistic  form,  not  only  the 
solution  itself,  but  also  the  patient  steps  by  which 
it  was  attained.  A  poet  who  undertakes  con- 
scientiously such  a  piece  of  work,  and  who  sue- 


}8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

cessfully  accomplishes  it,  deserves  well  of  every 
student  of  literature  and  philosophy. 

But,  in  the  second  place,  Davies  is  by  no  means 
unworthy  of  notice  as  a  philosophic  thinker.     He 
was  possessed  of  the  spirit  of  the  true  philoso- 
pher—  of  an  earnest  love  for,  and  desire  to  know, 
tlie  truth.     In  his  reasoning  he  is  candid,  and,  for 
the  most  part,  free  from  dogmatism  —  especially 
when  viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  the  spirit  of 
his  age.     He  stands  ready  all  through  the  poem 
to  give  a  reason   for  the    faith  within   him.     He 
docs    not   underestimate    the   force   of    opposing 
views,    nor    attempt   to    evade   them.     He    meets 
his  antagonist  fairly  —  whether  he  be  sensational- 
ist, materialist,  sceptic,   or  Christian  philosopher. 
He  does  not  proclaim  merely,  but  philosophizes. 
Furthermore,   he   reveals   a   strong   grasp  of  the 
problems   of  philosophy.     This    is   not    the   case 
with    many  of  the   philosophic   poets,  and   there 
j     is  often  a  deficiency  in  this  respect  among  phi- 
losophers themselves.     Davies,  throughout   Nosce 
Tci/>sinn,  seems  to  apprehend  the  essential  nature 
of  the  problems  with  which  he  deals.     And  to  this, 
as   much  as  to  anything,  do  we  owe  that  clear- 
ness—  that  perspicacity  —  which  his  critics  praise 
so  much.     This  is  all  the  more  evident,  when  we 


Introduction  ig 

note  that  he  makes  himself  clearly  understood  in 
verse  —  which  docs  not  lend  itself  so  easily  to 
philosophical  expression  as  prose.  And  it  is  still 
more  evident  in  view  of  the  fact  that  he  deals 
with  an  exceedingly  difficult  stanza. 

But  after  we  have  said  all  this,  the  real  value 
of  his  work  as  a  philosopher  lies  in  its  historical 
significance.  Dr.  Porter  has  truly  stated  what  this 
historical  significance  is.  "  It  gives,"  he  says,  "  a 
transcript  of  that  better  scholastic  doctrine  of  the 
soul  which  combines  the  teachings  of  both  Aris- 
totle and  Plato,  when  purified  from  many  of  the 
extreme  subtilities  ingrafted  upon  them  by  the 
doctors  of  the  schools,  and  adds  the  results  of 
the  dawning  good  sense  which  attended  the  Ref- 
ormation and  the  Revival  of  Classical  Learning. 
For  the  history  of  philosophy  it  is  of  great  sig- 
nificance, as  it  enables  the  student  to  understand 
the  psychology  and  philosophy  which  were  cur- 
rent before  the  introduction  of  the  philosophies 
of  Descartes  on  the  one  hand  and  of  Hobbes  and 
Locke  on  the  other."  ^ 

In  somewhat  similar  vein  Professor  Morris  re- 
marks:  "With  considerable  appositeness  of  argu- 

'  Ueberwcg,  "  History  of  I'hil()so|)l>y,"  trans,  by  G.  S.  Morris. 
New  York,  1873,  Vol.  II.,  Appendix,  pp.  35J-353. 


20  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

ment,  and  clearness  of  exposition,  Sir  John  Davies 
sets  forth  his  thoroughly  spiritualistic  psychology, 
and  develops  numerous  considerations  tending  to 
establish  the  doctrine  of  the  soul's  immortality, 
all  founded  on  the  best  philosophy  the  world  had 
produced,  and  pervaded  by  an  obvious  breath 
of  sincere  and  independent  conviction.  .  .  .  The 
poem  may  stand  as  a  document  to  prove  what 
was  the  thoughtful  faith  of  the  best  type  of  Eng- 
lish gentlemen  in  his  day."  ^ 

The  historical  significance  of  the  poem  as  thus 
stated  is  not  unimportant  to  the  student  of  the 
history  of  psychology  and  philosophy.  Works 
on  the  history  of  philosophy  are  not  rich  in 
materials  to  represent  the  period  marking  the 
transition  from  scholasticism  to  the  birth  of  mod- 
ern philosophy.  So  that  any  work,  like  Davies's 
Nosce  Tcipsum,  which  throws  light  on  the  best 
thought  of  this  period,  is  of  value  to  the  student. 
The  work  of  a  man,  then,  who  is  thus  highly 
estimated  as  a  poet  and  poet-philosopher  by  com- 
petent critics,  and  whose  historical  significance  for 
students  of  psychology  and  philosophy  is  of  such 
importance,  is  certainly  worthy  of  careful  study. 
And,  as  we  note  the  progress  of  psychology  and 

»  "  Uritish  Thought  and  Thinkers."    Chicago,  1880,  pp.  67-68. 


IntroJuction  21 

philosophy  since  the  poet's  day,  to  the  rewards  of 
swell  a  study  will  be  added  the  additional  recom- 
pense of  which  Goethe  speaks  in  the  following 
linos:  — 

"  A  great  delight  is  granted 
When,  in  the  spirit  of  the  ages  planted, 
We  mark  how,  ere  our  time,  a  sage  has  thought, 
And  then,  how  far  his  work,  and  grandly,  we  have  brought." 

Faust,  Scene  I.  —  Bayard  Taylor's  Translation. 


CHAPTER  I 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.— RELATION  TO  THE 
AGE  AND  TO  PRECEDING  THOUGHT 

"1 T/E  can  gain  a  clearer  insight  into  Davies's 
philosophical  poem  by  making  a  brief 
study  of  his  life,  and  an  inquiry  into  his  relation 
to  his  age.  His  indebtedness  to  predecessors 
must  also  be  considered. 

Sir  John  Davies,  poet,  poet-philosopher,  lawyer, 
and  statesman,  was  born  in  Tisbury,  Wiltshire, 
England,  in  1569.  He  was  the  son  of  John  Davies, 
of  Chisgrove,  also  a  lawyer,  and  country  gentleman. 
His  mother,  Mary  Bennett,  was  a  member  of  a 
distinguished  family,  Davies  "  became  a  com- 
moner of  Queen'?  coll.  about  the  beginning  of 
Mich,  term  in  the  fifteenth  year  of  his  age,  an. 
1585,  wherein  having  laid  a  considerable  founda- 
tion of  academical  literature,  partly  by  his  own 
natural  parts  (which  were  excellent)  and  partly 
by  the  help  of  a  good  tutor,  he  was  removed  (hav- 
ing taken  a  degree  in  arts,  as  it   seems)  to  the 


Biographic  ill  Sketch  2j 

Middlc-Tcmplc,  wherein  applying  himself  to  the 
study  of  the  common-law,  tho'  he  had    no  great 
geny  to  it,  was  in  fine  (July  1595,)  made  a  bar- 
rester."  '     There  are  evidences  that,  although  Da- 
vies  was  an  earnest  student,  he  was  nevertheless 
given  to  indulgence  in  the  youthful  extravagances 
more  or  less  characteristic  of  tiic  times.     He  asso- 
ciated with  the  wits  and  poets  of  the  period,  and 
tile  character  of  the  epigrams  penned  by  him  at 
this  time  indicate  that  the  moral  tone  of  society 
was  not  very  high.     Me  was  admitted  to  the  bar, 
as  has  already  been  stated,  in    1595.     Two  years 
earlier,    his    celebrated    poem    entitled    Onhestrn, 
or  a  Pocmc  of  Dauncing,  "  was  licensed  to  John 
Harison,"  although  it  seems  not  to  have  been  pub- 
lished  before    15^j6.     This  poem  was  dedicated   to 
one  Richard  Martin,  afterward   Recorder  of  Lon- 
don, and  a  very  dear  friend  of  Davies.     This  fact 
is  interesting   in   the  light   of  subsequent  events. 
Later  a  quarrel  occurred  between  the  two  friends, 
the  consequences  of  which    completely  changed 
the  tenor  of  the   poet's  life.      For  some   reason 
Davies  took  ofifence  at  Martin,  who  is  represented 
as  a  man  "  fast  of  tongue  and  ribald  of  wit,  with  a 

1  Anthony-a-Wood,   "Athenx   Oxonienses."     London,   1815, 
Vol.  II.  p.  400. 


24  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

dash  of  provocative  sarcasm."  *  Davies  resented 
the  offence  by  cudgelh'ng  him  severely  while  dining 
at  the  barrister's  table  in  the  Middle  Temple.  On 
account  of  this  assault  he  was  expelled  from  the 
Bar.^  His  disbarment,  however,  was  not,  in  the 
end,  a  misfortune  to  him  or  to  the  world.  It,  so 
to  speak,  brought  him  to  himself.  Having  been 
thus  humiliated,  he  returned  to  Oxford  and  re- 
sumed his  studies.  It  proved  to  be  a  year  of  re- 
pentance and  soul-searching  —  a  year  of  serious 
study  and  reflection  —  which  resulted  in  a  complete 
reformation  of  life.  To  this  Davies  himself  testi- 
fies in  the  following  words  descriptive  of  his  own 
experience :  — 

•'  Yet  if  AJJliction  once  her  warres  begin, 

And  threat  the  feebler  Sense  with  sword  and  fire  ; 
The  Minde  contracts  her  selfe  and  shrinketh  in, 
And  to  her  selfe  she  gladly  doth  retire  : 

"As  Spiders  toucht,  seek  their  webs  inmost  part; 
As  bees  in  stormes  vnto  their  hiues  returne  ; 
As  bloud  in  danger  gathers  to  the  heart; 
As  men  seek  towns,  when  foes  the  country  burn. 

"If  ought  can  teach  vs  ought,  Afflictions  lookes, 
(Making  vs  looke  into  our  selues  so  neere,) 
Teach  vs  to  knotv  our  selues  beyond  all  bookes, 
Or  all  the  learned  Schooles  that  euer  were. 

1  Grosart,  op.  cit.,  Mem.  Int.  p.  xxii. 

'■'  For  full  account  of  the  affair  see  Stowell,  "  Archacologia,** 
Vol.  X.Xl. 


Biographical  Sketch  25 

*•  This  mistusst  lately  pluckt  me  by  the  eare, 
And  many  a  golden  lesson  hath  me  taught ; 
Hatli  made  my  Senses  quicke,  and  Reason  cleare, 
Rcform'd  my  Will  and  rectifidc  my  Thought 

"  So  doc  the  winds  and  thunders  cleanse  the  ayrc; 
So  working  lees  settle  and  purge  the  wine; 
So  lop't  and  pruned  trees  doe  flourish  {aire  ; 
So  doth  the  tire  the  drossie  gold  refine. 

"  Neither  Minerua  nor  the  learned  Muse, 

Nor  rules  of  Art,  nox precepts  of  the  wise ; 
Could  in  my  braine  those  beames  of  skill  infuse. 
As  but  the  glance  of  this  Darnels  angry  eyes. 

"  She  within  lists  my  ranging  minde  hath  brought, 
That  now  beyond  my  selfe  I  list  not  goe; 
My  selfe  am  center  of  my  circling  thought, 
Onely  tny  selfe  I  studie,  learne,  and  know." 

But  a  moral  reformation  of  Davics  was  not  the 
only  outcome  of  this  humiliation,  with  its  conse- 
quent isolation  and  reflection.  His  self-contempla- 
tion led  to  a  serious  study  of  the  reality,  nature, 
origin,  powers,  dignity,  and  destiny  of  the  human 
soul,  and  the  uses  to  which  such  a  spiritual  being 
should  be  put ;  and  to  the  embodiment  of  his  re- 
flections and  conclusions  in  an  elaborate  poem 
entitled  Nosce  Tcipsum.  In  other  words,  Nosce 
Teipsuui  —  which  is  a  philosophy  of  mind  in  verse 
—  was  the  fruit  of  his  humiliation  and  repentance. 


26  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

It  is  quite  remarkable  that  a  poem,  representing 
so  much  literary  merit,  and  requiring  so  much 
serious  and  sustained  reflection,  should  have  been 
produced  in  less  than  a  year,  especially  when  it  is 
remembered  that  much  of  Davies's  time  was  de- 
voted to  the  earnest  pursuit  of  his  studies.  By  the 
persuasion,  and  through  the  kind  offices,  of  Lord 
Mountjoy,  the  poem  was  dedicated  to  Queen  Eliza- 
beth,^ who  was  so  greatly  pleased  with  it  that  she 
made  him  her  servant  in  ordinary,  and  gave  him 
promises  of  promotion.  Of  course,  regardless  of 
the  merits  of  the  poem,  the  aged  queen  could  not 
have  been  altogether  indifferent  to  the  graceful 
and  flattering  words  of  the  dedicatory  poem:  — 

"  To  that  cleere  maiestie  which  in  the  North 
Doth,  like  another  Sunne  in  glory  rise  ; 
Which  standeth  fixt,  yet  spreads  her  heauenly  worth; 
Loadstone  to  hearts,  and  loadstarre  to  all  eyes. 

"  Like  Heau'n  in  all;  like  th'  Earth  in  this  alone. 

That  though  great  States  by  her  support  doe  stand, 
Yet  she  herselfe  supported  is  of  none, 
But  by  the  finger  of  the  Almightie's  hand  : 

*  A  MS.  copy  of  the  poem,  dedicated  to  Ed.  Cooke,  Esq.,  a 
friend  of  Davies,  is  preserved  in  Holkham  Hall.  Another  MS. 
copy  was  dedicated  to  the  Earl  of  NorthumI)erland.  Cf.  "  Dic- 
tionary of  National  Biography,"  Vol.  XIV.  p.  141. 


Biograpbitral  Sketch  2y 

"To  tlie  diuincst  and  the  ridiest  minde, 

Both  l)y  Art's  purchase  ami  by  Nature's  dowre, 
That  eucr  was  from  Heau'n  to  I-^arth  confin'd, 
To  shew  the  vtmost  of  a  creature's  power : 

"  To  that  great  Spirit,  which  doth  great  kingdomes  mooue, 
The  sacred  spring  whence  ri^ht  and  honor  streames, 
Distilling  Vertug,  shedding  Peace  and  Loue, 
In  euery  place,  as  Cynthia  sheds  her  beames: 

*'  I  offer  up  some  sparkles  of  that  fire, 

Whereby  wee  reason,  line,  and  moue,  and  bej 
These  sparkes  by  nature  cuermore  aspire, 
Which  makes  them  to  so  hij^h  an  highnesse  ^tt. 

**  Faire  Soule,  since  to  the  fairest  body  knit. 

You  giue  such  liuely  life,  such  quickning  power, 

Such  sweet  celestiall  influences  to  it, 

As  kecpes  it  still  in  youth's  immortall  flower : 

"  (As  where  the  sunne  is  present  all  the  yeere, 
And  ncucr  doth  retire  his  golden  ray. 
Needs  must  the  Spring  bee  euerlasting  there, 
And  euery  season  like  the  month  of  May.) 

♦'  O  !  many,  many  yeeres  may  you  remaine, 
A  happy  angell  to  this  happy  Land; 
Long,  long  may  you  on  Karili  our  empresse  raigne, 
Ere  you  in  Heauen  a  glorious  angell  stand. 

"  Stay  long  (sweet  spirit)  ere  thou  to  Heauen  depart, 

Which  mak'bt  each  place  a  heauen  wherein  thou  art." 


28  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Nosce  Teipsum,  more  than  any  other  poem  of 
its  author,  made  a  reputation  for  Davies.  The 
same  year  of  its  publication  came  the  Hymnes  of 
Astraa  —  a  series  of  hymns  or  short  poems  to 
Queen  Elizabeth.  There  are  twenty-six,  flattering 
and  fulsome,  ascribing  to  her  almost  every  human 
virtue.  There  is  a  hymn  to  her  picture;  one  tell- 
ing of  her  mind;  others  treating  respectively  "  Of 
the  Sun-bcames  of  her  Mind,"  "Of  her  Wit," 
"  Of  her  Will,"  "  Of  her  Memorie,"  "  Of  her  Phan- 
tasie,"  "  Of  the  Organs  of  her  Minde,"  "  Of  the 
Passions  of  her  Heart,"  "  Of  the  Innumerable  Ver- 
tues  of  her  Minde,"  "  Of  her  Wisdome,"  "  Of  her 
Justice,"  "Of  her  Magnanimitie,"  and  "Of  her 
Moderation." 

Davies  was  now  conspicuous  in  the  public  eye. 
Jle  was  on  the  high  road  to  preferment.  Other 
I)octs  recognized  his  merit.  He  contributed 
Minor  Poems  to  Davison's  Poetical  Rhapsody. 
Through  the  intercession  of  Lord  Ellesmere, 
Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal,  he  was  re-admitted  to 
the  Bar,  having  made  the  proper  apologies.  His 
apology  to  Martin  led,  at  least,  to  a  formal  recon- 
ciliation of  the  former  friends.^  In  1601  he  was 
made  a  member  of  Parliament  for  Corfe  Castle. 
^  Cf.  Grosart,  op.  cit.,  Mem.  Int.  pp.  xxx-.\xxi. 


Biographical  Sketch  2g 

Martin  was  also  in  Parliament  at  this  time.  Davics 
was  appointed  a  member  of  the  "  Grand  Commit- 
tee "  to  thank  Queen  Elizabeth  for  the  withdrawal 
of  certain  patents  which  had  led  to  great  abuses. 
A  new  and  corrected  edition  of  iVi?i^^  Tcipsum  was 
issued  in  i602.  After  the  death  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth in  1603,  "  he,  with  the  Lord  Hunsdon,  went 
into  Scotland  to  congratulate  K.  James  as  her 
lawful  successor;  and  being  introduced  into  his 
presence,  the  king  enquired  the  names  of  those 
gentlemen  who  were  in  the  company  of  the  said 
lord,  and  he  naming  John  Davies  among,  who 
stood  behind,  them,  the  king  straitway  asked, 
whether  he  was  Nosce  Teipsiim  ?  and  being  an- 
swered that  he  was  the  same,  he  graciously  em- 
braced him,  and  thenceforth  had  so  great  a  favour 
for  him,  that  soon  after  [in  1603,]  he  made  him  his 
solicitor,  and  then  his  attorney-general  in  Ireland."  ^ 
He  distinguished  himself  in  the  important  and  diffi- 
cult office  of  Solicitor  General.  His  latest  biogra- 
pher gives  him  almost  unmeasured  praise  for  his 
work  in  behalf  of  Ireland  and  the  Government.^ 
In  1606  he  was  made  Attorney  General  for  Ireland. 
He  was  also  appointed  Sergeant-at-Arms.     Davies 

*  Anthony-a-Wood,  op.  cit.,  Vol.  II.  p.  401. 

*  Grosart,  op.  cit.,  Mem.  Int.  pp.  xxxv-xxxvii. 


^o  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

showed  exceptional  fitness  for  his  work,  and  his 
state  papers  evince  a  high  order  of  legal  ability 
and  statesmanship.     In  1607  he  was  knighted. 

During  his  career  in  Ireland  he  was  married  to 
r^ieanor,  youngest  daughter  of  George,  Lord  Aud- 
Icy.  She  was  a  singular  woman,  given  to  strange 
prophecies  and  superstitions.  "  What  she  usually 
predicted,"  says  Wood,  "  she  folded  up  for  the  most 
part  in  dark  expressions,  received  from  a  voice, 
which  she  frequently  heard,  as  she  used  to  tell  her 
tlaughtcr  Lucy,  and  the  others."  '  She  wrote  The 
Sfay  of  the  Wise,  The  Restitution  of  the  Reprobates, 
The  Bride's  Preparation,  and  Tobit's  Book.  Two 
children  were  born  of  the  marriage.  One,  an 
idiotic  son,  died  in  his  youth.  The  other,  Lucy 
by  name,  grew  up  an  exceedingly  clever  woman. 
She  married  Ferdinand,  Lord  Hastings,  later  Earl 
of  Huntingdon. 

To  return  to  Davics,  we  find  that  he  performed 
his  official  duties  in  Ireland  with  exceptional  thor- 
oughness and  ability.  He  made  a  careful  study 
of  the  *' Irish  question,"  and  in  1612  was  pub- 
lished his  admirable  book,  A  Discoverie  of  the 
Trve  Cavses  ivhy  Ireland  was  neuer  entirely  Sub- 
dued .  .  ,  vntill  the  Beginning  of  his  Maiesties 
1  Op.  cit.,  p.  404. 


Biographical  Sketch  ^i 

happie  Raigne.  This  same  year  saw  him  made 
Kinpi's  Sergeant.  He  was  also  elected  a  Member 
of  Parlianient  for  Fermanagh,  and  later  was  chosen 
Speaker  of  the  House.  In  1614  he  served  as 
Member  of  Parliament  for  Newcastle-under-Lyne. 
Later,  in  1619,  he  moved  to  England,  continuing 
to  represent  Ncwcastle-undcr-Lync  in  the  House, 
and  also  serving  in  the  capacity  of  Judge  of 
Assize.^  In  1622  he  published  for  the  first  time 
a  volume  of  his  collected  poems.^  In  1626  he  re- 
ceived the  exalted  honor  of  an  appointment  to  the 
Lord  Chief  Justiceship.  Unfortunately  he  did  not 
live  long  enough  to  enter  upon  the  duties  of  his 
office.  On  December  8  of  the  same  year  he  died 
—  it  was  supposed,  according  to  Wood,  of  apo- 
plexy. He  was  buried  in  St.  Martin's  Church, 
London.  Shortly  after,  an  elaborate  inscription 
in  Latin  was  placed  on  a  pillar  near  his  grave. 
Grosart's  translation  of  this  inscription,  so  far  as  it 
relates  to  his  character  and  accomplishments,  is  as 
follows:  '*  To  God  the  Best  and  Greatest:  Sacred. 
John  Davys  of  knightly  rank,  having  formerly 
discharged  with  prudence  the  highest  duties  of 
King's  Attorney  General  in  the  realm  of  Ireland : 

i  Grosart,  op.  cit.,  Mem.  Int.  p.  xliii-xlvii. 
2  For  a  list  of  Davies's  prose  works  cf.  Wood,  op.  cit., Vol.  II.  pp. 
402-403.     Consult  also  Grosart's  ed.  of  his  collected  prose  works. 


52  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

thence  having  been  recalled  to  his  own  country, 
secured  the  first  place  among  the  servants  of  his 
lord  the  King,  at  the  Law.     After  various  services 
nobly  rendered  in  each  office,  being  now  nom- 
inated  to   more  distinguished  (appointments)  he 
suddenly  frustrated   the  hope  of  his  friends  but 
fulfilled  his  own  —  being  called  away  from  human 
honours  to  celestial  glory,  in  the  year  of  his  age 
57.      A   man    for   accomplished    genius,    for   un- 
common eloquence,  for  language  whether  free  or 
bound  in  verse,  most  happy.     Judicial  sternness 
with    elegance  of    manners    and    more    pleasant 
learning   he   tempered.     An  uncorrupt   Judge,  a 
faithful  Patron.     For  love  of  free-born  piety  and 
contempt   for  fretting   superstition   alike  remark- 
able.     He   looked   down    from  on    high    on    the 
obstinate    narrowness    of    plebeian    souls    in    the 
matter    of    religion,   pity   softening    his    disdain. 
Himself  magnanimously  just,  religious,  free,  and 
moved  by  heaven."  ^ 

Davies,  of  course,  like  every  writer,  was  affected 
by  the  spirit  of  the  age.  The  spirit  of  the  Eliz- 
abethan age  has  been  so  frequently  portrayed, 
and  at  such  great  length,  in  other  works,  as  to 
make  an  extended  description  here  unnecessary. 
1  Op.  cit.,  Mem.  Int.  pp.  liv-lv. 


Biographical  Sketch  ^^ 

A  brief  reference  to  it  for  purposes  of  undcr- 
standini^  in  what  manner  Davics  in  writing  Nosce 
Tiifsunt  was  aflfccted  by  it  is  all  that  is  required. 
The  first  results  of  the  Revival  of  Letters  were 
experienced  by  ICngland  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
fifteenth  and  the  first  part  of  the  sixteenth  centu- 
ries. Probably  the  best  results  in  the  sixteenth 
century  were  reached  during  the  reign  of  Henry 
VHI.  But  throughout  the  reign  of  Elizabeth 
there  was  considerable  interest  manifested  in  clas- 
sical literature.  Professor  Craik,  in  a  chapter  on 
"Classical  Learning,"'  speaking  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  says:  "The  whole  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  however,  will  deserve  the  epithet  of  a 
learned  age,  notwithstanding  the  state  of  the 
schools  and  universities,  and  of  what  are  called 
the  learned  professions,  if  we  look  either  to  the 
names  of  eminent  scholars  by  which  every  por- 
tion of  it  is  adorned,  or  to  the  extent  to  which 
the  study  of  the  learned  languages  then  entered 
into  the  education  of  all  persons,  women  as  well 
as  men,  who  were  considered  to  be  well  edu- 
cated." ..."  The  number  of  very  great  English 
scholars,  however,  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  was 
not  so  considerable  as  in  that  of  her  father,  when 

*  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  I.  p.  416  sq. 
3 


^4  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

classical  studies  were  not  only  cultivated  with  per- 
haps a  truer  appreciation  of  the  highest  models, 
but   afforded,  besides,  almost   the  only  field   for 
intellectual  exercise  and  display.     Still  this  kind 
of  learning  continued   to  be  fashionable;  and  a 
familiar,  if  not  a  profound,  acquaintance  with  both 
tlic  Latin  and  the  Greek  languages  was  diffused 
to  an  unusual  extent  among  persons  of  the  high- 
est rank."  ^     I'21i/,abcth  herself  was  a  good  Greek 
scholar,   and    translated    Isocrates.      Ascham,    in 
the   Schoolmaster,  speaks  well  of  her  knowledge 
of  Latin.     She  translated  a  portion  of  Seneca's 
Hercules   Qitccus.      The    members   of  her    court 
were    also    interested    in    the   classics.      Warton, 
speaking  of  Elizabeth's  reign,  says;    "It  became 
fashionable  in  this  reign  to  study  Greek  at  court. 
The  maids  of  honour  indulged  their  ideas  of  sen- 
timental affection  in  the  sublime  contemplation  of 
Plato's   rhxdo:    and   the  queen,  who  understood 
Greek   better  than  the  canons  of  Windsor,   and 
was   certainly  a  much    greater   pedant   than   her 
successor  James  the  First,  translated  Isocrates." '^ 
Davies  was  undoubtedly  affected  by  the  literary 

1  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  I.  pp.  428-429. 

'  "The  History  of  linglish  Poetry,"  etc.     London,  1840,  Vol. 
III.  p.  20- 


Biographical  Sketch  ^5 

spirit  of  the  ape.  Classical  training  and  learning 
fi'^urcd  in  his  education.  Like  other  poets  of  the 
Elizabethan  period,  he  reveals  in  his  poetry  a 
familiarity  with  Latin  and  Greek  authors.  There 
are  numerous  allusions  to  classical  mythology  in 
his  writings.  Not  a  few  of  these  are  to  be  found 
in  lYoscc  Teipsunt.  They  also  indicate  some 
knowledge  of  classical  history.  The  acquaint- 
ance of  our  poet  .ith  classical  literature  nat- 
urally raises  the  question  whether,  since  Nosce 
TcipstPH  is  really  the  first  formally  developed 
system  of  philosophy  in  English  poetry,  its  au- 
thor found  a  model  among  the  Greek  or  Latin 
poets.  It  has  been  suggested  that  he  found  such 
a  model  in  the  De  Reniin  Nattira  of  Lucretius. 
However,  there  does  not  seem  to  be  any  substan- 
tial evidence  for  such  a  suggestion.  External 
evidence  on  this  point  would  only  indicate  a  pos- 
sibility of  a  knowledge  of  Lucretius  as  a  result  of 
Davies's  interest  in  philosophy  and  classical  lit- 
erature. But  internal  evidence  certainly  does  not 
indicate  that  the  poem  of  Lucretius  was  the  model 
for  Nosce  Teipsiim.  The  two  poems  are  alto- 
gether unlike,  both  in  form  and  content.  So 
far  as  form  is  concerned,  their  metrical  frame- 
work is  entirely  different.     So  far  as  content  is 


^6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

concerned,  they  differ  radically.  The  work  of 
Lucretius  is  much  more  comprehensive  than  is 
the  work  of  Davies.  The  former  is  a  philosophy 
of  all  reality  —  of  things  as  well  as  of  minds;  the 
latter  is  merely  a  philosophy  of  mind.  The 
former  is  a  materialistic  philosophy;  the  latter 
is  a  spiritualistic  philosophy.  Furthermore,  the 
materialism  which  Davies  refutes  in  Nosce  Tcip- 
siiin,  which  regards  the  soul  as  corporeal,  is  not 
peculiar  to  Lucretius,  but  is  common  to  De- 
mocritus,  the  Stoics,  and  Epicureans  as  well. 
Again,  in  Davics's  elaborate  consideration  of  the 
objections  to  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  he  does 
not  consider  any  of  the  many  objections  urged 
by  Lucretius^  against  the  belief  Even  the  idea 
of  writing  a  philosophical  poem  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  suggested  by  the  work  of  Lucretius. 
The  most  natural  explanation  of  the  origin  of 
Nosce  Tcipsum  is  the  one  already  hinted  at  in 
the  account  given  in  the  biographical  sketch. 
Davies's  disbarment,  with  the  humiliation  and 
disgrace  involved,  led  him  to  betake  himself  to 
serious  introspection  and  reflection.  He  him- 
self tells  us  what  the  results  of  his  "affliction" 
were :  — 

*  "Dc  Rerum  Natura,"  Lib.  III. 


Biographical  Sketch  ^y 

"  If  ought  can  teach  vs  ouglit,  Afflictions  lookcs, 
(M.ikin;;  vs  looke  into  our  sclucs  so  neere,) 
Teacli  vs  to  know  our  selues  beyond  all  bookes, 
Or  all  tiic  learned  Schooles  that  euer  were. 

"  Tliis  tnistresse  lately  pluckt  me  by  the  eare, 
Anil  many  a  golden  lesson  hath  me  taught ; 
Hath  made  my  Senses  quicke,  and  Reason  cleare, 
Reform'd  my  Will  and  rectifide  my  Thought. 

"She  within  lists  my  ranging  minde  hath  brought, 
That  now  beyond  my  sclfe  I  list  not  goe  ; 
My  selfe  am  center  of  my  circling  thought, 
Onely  tny  selfe  I  studio,  karne,  and  know." 

The  conclusions  born  of  such  a  soul-study  Davies 
desired  to  communicate  to  others;  and,  being  a 
poet,  what  more  natural  than  that  he  should 
choose  verse  as  the  means  of  communication? 
The  result  was,  a  philosophical  poem — Nosce 
Teipsttm. 

But  what  of  Davies's  relation  to  the  spirit  of  his. 
age  so  far  as  the  philosophy  and  theology  of  his 
poem  are  concerned?  To  what  extent  was  he 
inHuenccd  in  his  thinking  by  the  philosophical  and 
theological  thought  of  his  time?  This  questioni 
can  best  be  answered  in  connection  with  a  more:, 
general  question ;  namely.  What  are  the  chief  j'"-'" 
sources  of  Davies's  philosophical  indebtedness? 
Philosophical  thinkers  generally  are  influenced  by 


Kefo, 


IS  II 


j8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

their  speculative  environment  and  by  preceding 
speculative  thought.  Davies  is  no  exception  to 
the  rule.  It  is  rather  difficult  to  determine  by 
specific  external  evidence  to  whom  he  is  specially 
indebted.  Internal  evidence,  however,  seems  to 
point  to  the  influence  of  four  thinkers,  —  Aristotle, 

I     Cicero,  Nemesius,  and  Calvin. 

;  In  the  first  place,  a  careful  comparison  of  Davies's 
poem  witli  Aristotle's  ZV  Anitna  reveals  Davies's 

! 

(    acquaintance  with  this  celebrated  work  of  the  great 
i    Greek  philosopher.     This  is  manifest  in  the  simi- 
I    larity  of   their  teachings  on  fundamental   points, 
,i    as,  the  reality  of  the  soul,  the  nature  of  the  soul, 
Ij   the  soul's  relation  to  the  body,  the  rational  soul's 
[|  relation  to  sense,  the  powers  of  the  soul,  the  activ- 
i    ity  of  the  soul,  etc.     These  similarities  of  teaching 
j  will  be' more  specifically  pointed  out  in  the  course 
Ij  of  our  study,  and  they  will   be  found  sufficiently 
striking  to  remove  any  scepticism  concerning  the 
influence  of  the  Stagyritc  upon  our  poet's  think- 
ing.    Of  course  external  evidence  would  seem  to 
indicate  this  also.     Aristotle  was  a  power  in  Scho- 
,;'lastic  thought,  and  the  Renaissance  and  Protestant 
,)i Reformation  only  led    to  a  more  direct  study  of 
jhis   works.     Despite   the   early   antipathy  of  the 
theologians  of  the   Reformation  to  Aristotle   (as 


Biographical  Sketch  59 

for  example  Lutlicr  and  Mclancthon),  later  they 
found  it  necessary  to  turn  to  him  for  aid  in  their 
reconstruction  of  theology.  But  they  turned  to 
tlic  real  Aristotle  rather  than  to  his  Scholastic 
interpreters.  So  that  Aristotle  was  influential  in 
the  speculative  thought  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
And  it  was  quite  natural  that  Davies  should  seek 
help  from  this  powerful  mind  in  his  study  of  the 
human  soul, 
(^  In  the  second  place,  internal  evidence  strongly 

indicates  the  influence  of  Cicero  upon  the  thinking 
of  Davies.  This  is  manifest  in  his  argument  for 
the  reality  of  the  soul;  but  more  especially  in  his 
argument  for  its  immortalit}-.  The  greater  portion 
of  his  reasoning  on  this  subject  is  taken  from 
Cicero's  Tnscnlan  Disputations.  The  arguments 
from  universal  assent,  from  contempt  of  death  in 
righteous  souls,  the  fear  of  death  in  wicked  souls, 
the  intimations  of  immortality  manifest  in  the 
desire  for  posthumous  fame,  and  in  the  care  for 
posterity; — all  of  this,  as  we  shall  see  later  by 
careful  comparison,  is  taken  from  the  Roman 
philosopher. 

In  the  third  place,  internal  evidence  points  more 
or  less  conclusively  to  the  influence  of  Nemesius 
upon    Davies.      Nemesius  was  one   of  the   early 


40  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Christian  Fathers  and  Bishop  of  one  of  the  cities 
in  Phoenicia.  He  wrote  a  work  in  Greek  on  TAg 
Nature  of  Man.  This  work  was  translated  into 
Engh'sh  by  George  Wither,  the  poet,  and  pubh'shed 
in  London,  1636.  In  Nichols's  Literary  Illustra- 
tions^ there  is  a  letter  written  by  one  Alexander 
Dalrymple  to  a  Mr.  Herbert  in  which,  after  stating 
that  he  had  recently  purchased  some  old  books, 
he  says:  "I  have  also  got  '  VVither's  translation 
of  Nemcsius  de  Natura  hominis'  by  which  I 
find  Sir  John  Davies's  poem  on  the  Immortality 
of  the  Soul  is  chiefly  taken  from  Ncmesius." 
..."  I  have  picked  up  a  tract  in  4to  by  Thomas 
Jenner,  with  some  very  good  plates,  the  marginal 
notes  of  which  seem  to  be  what  the  heads  of 
Tate's  edition  of  Sir  John  Davies's  are  taken 
from."  2 

To  Dalrymplc's  accusation  of  plagiarism  on  the 
part  of  Davics  Grosart  takes  vigorous  exception. 
He  says :  "  Were  this  true  it  would  utterly  take 
from  *  Nosce  Teipsum  '  the  first  characteristic  and 
merit  I  claim  for  it  —  deep  and  original  thought. 
But  it  is  absolutely  untrue,  an  utter  delusion,  as 
any  one  will  find  who  takes  the  pains  that  I  have 

1  Vol.  IV.  pp.  549-550- 

'  Grosart,  op.  cit.,  Mem.  Int.  p.  Ixi. 


Biographical  Sketch  41 

done  to  read,  cither  the  original  Nemesius,  or  what 
tliis  sapient  book-buyer  mentions,  Wither's  trans- 
lation. With  my  mind  and  memory  full  of'  Nosce 
Teipsum  '  and  the  poem  itself  beside  me,  I  have 
read  and  re-read  every  page,  sentence  and  word  of 
Nemesius  and  Wither  (and  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
Wither  in  his  translation:  1636)  and  I  have  not 
come  upon  a  single  metaphor  or  (as  the  old  margin- 
notes  called  them)  '  similies,'  or  even  observation 
in  'Nosce  Teipsum'  drawn  from  Nemesius  or 
Wither.  The  only  element  in  common  is  that 
necessarily  Nemesius  adduces  and  discusses  the 
opinions  of  the  Heathen  Philosophers  on  the  many 
matters  handled  by  him,  and  Sir  John  Davies  does 
the  same  with  equal  inevitableness.  But  to  base 
a  charge  of  plagiarism  against  '  Nosce  Teipsum ' 
on  this,  is  to  reason  on  the  connection  between 
Tenterden  Steeple  and  Goodwin  Sands  (if  the 
well-worn  folly  be  a  permissible  reference).  .  .  . 
Chronologically  —  Wither's  translation  was  not 
published  until  1636,  while  *  Nosce  Teipsum  *  was 
published  in  1599;  but  Nemesius'  own  book  no 
more  than  Wither's  warrants  any  such  preposterous 
statements  as  this  Alexander  Dalrymple  makes. 
Even  in  the  treatment  of  the  'opinions'  of  the 
Heathen  Philosophers  which  come  up  in  Nemesius, 


42  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

and  in  *  Nosce  Teipsum,'  the  latter  while  '  inter- 
nicdling'  with  the  same  returns  wholly  distinct 
answers  in  refutation.  The  '  opinions  '  themselves 
as  being  derived  of  necessity  from  the  same 
sources  are  identical ;  but  neither  their  statement 
nor  refutation.  Nemesius  is  ingenious  and  well- 
Icarned,  but  heavy  and  prosaic.  Sir  John  Davies 
is  li^ht  of  touch  and  a  light  of  pi  glory  lies  on 
the  lamest  '  opinion.'  The  '  Fathci  of  the  Church  ' 
goes  forth  to  war  with  encumbering  armour:  the 
Poet  naked  and  unarmed  beyond  the  spear  where- 
with he  '  pierces '  everything,  viz.  human  conscious- 
ness. Jenner's  forgotten  book  had  perhaps  been 
read  by  Tate,  but  that  concerns  Tate  not  Sir  John 
Davies.  I  pronounce  it  a  hallucination  to  write 
'  Sir  John  Davies'  poem  on  the  immortality  of  the 
Soul  is  chiefly  taken  from  Nemesius.'  Not  one 
line  was  taken  from  Nemesius."  ^ 

As  the  view  of  Davics's  indebtedness  to  Ne- 
mesius taken  in  this  study  dififers  materially  from 
the  view  of  Grosart,  it  is  only  fair  that  his  view 
should  be  presented  here  in  full.  Immediately 
following  the  words  quoted  above,  he  proceeds 
with  equal  vigor  and  firmness  of  conviction  as 
before :  — 

*  Op.  cit.,  Mem.  Int.  pp.  Ixi-lxiil. 


Biographical  Sketch  4) 

"  Before  passing  on  it  may  be  well  to  illustrate 
here  from  the  '  contents  '  of  two  chapters  (repre- 
sentative of  the  whole)  in  Wither's  Neniesius,  the 
merely  superficial  agreement  between  them  and 
'  Noscc  Teipsum.'  In  the  Poem  under  '  The  Soule 
of  Man  and  The  Iminortalitic  thereof  various 
opinions  of  its  'nature'  arc  thus  summarized: 

*One  thinks  tlie  Soulc-  is  aire;  another, yfr^y 
Another  blooii,  clitTus'd  about  tlie  heart; 
Another  saith,  the  elcmmts  conspire, 
And  to  her  esseine  each  dotli  giue  a  part. 

Musicians  thinke  our  SouUs  are  harmonies, 
Phisicians  hold  that  they  complexions  bee  ; 
Epicttres  make  t)iem  swarmes  of  atomies. 
Which  doe  by  chance  into  our  bodies  flee.'  (p.  26.) 

In  Nemcsius,  c.  2.  §  I,  the  '  headings  '  are  :  '  I.  The 
severall  and  different  Opinions  of  the  Ancients  con- 
cerning the  Sovl,  as  whether  it  be  a  Substance ; 
whether  corporeall,  or  incorporeall,  whether  mortal 
or  immortal.  P.  II.  The  confutation  of  those  who 
affirme  in  general  that  the  Sovl  is  a  corporeall- 
substance.  III.  Confutations  of  their  particular 
Arguments,  who  affirme  that  the  Sovl  is  Blood, 
Water,  or  Aire.'  These  are  all  common-places  of 
ancient 'opinion'  and  of  the  subject;  and  anything 
less  poetical  than  Nemcsius'  treatment  of  them  is 


44  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

scarcely  imaginable.  Here  if  anywhere  Davies* 
indebtedness  must  have  been  revealed;  but  not 
one  scintilla  of  obligation  suggests  itself  to  the 
Reader.  Again  in  the  Poem,  after  a  subtle  and 
very  remarkable  '  confutation  '  of  the  notion  that 
the  Soul  is  a  thing  of  'Sense'  only,  there  comes 
proof 'That  the  Soule  is  more  than  the  Tempera- 
ture of  the  humours  of  the  Body';  and  nowhere 
docs  Davies  show  a  more  cunning  hand  than  in 
his  statement  of  the  '  false  opinion.'  Turning  once 
more  to  Nemesius  c.  II.  §  3,  these  are  its  '  head- 
ings ' : —  'I.  It  is  here  declared,  that  the  Soul  is 
not  (as  Galen  implicitly  affirmeth)  a  Temperature  in 
general.  II.  It  is  here  proved  also,  that  the  Soul 
is  no  particular  temperature  or  quality.  III.  And 
it  is  likewise  demonstrated  that  the  Soul  is  rather 
govcrnesse  of  the  temperatures  of  the  Body,  both 
ordering  them,  and  subduing  the  vices  which 
arise  from  the  bodily  tempers.'  Here  again  we 
would  have  expected  some  resemblances  or  sug- 
gestions;  but  again  there  is  not  a  jot  or  tittle  of 
either.  Thus  is  it  throughout.  One  might  as  well 
turn  up  the  words  used  in  'Nosce  Teipsum'  in  a 
quotation-illustrated  Dictionary  of  the  English  Lan- 
guage (such  as  Richardson's)  and  argue  '  plagiar- 
ism '  because  of  necessarily  agreeing  definitions, 


Biographical  Shetcb  ^5 

as  from  a  few  scattered  places  in  '  Nosce  Telpsum  ' 
discussing  tlic  same  topics,  allege  appropriation  of 
Ncmcsius.  Your  mere  readers  of  title-pages  and 
contents,  or  glancers  over  indices  are  constantly 
blundering  after  this  fashion.  Dalryniple  was  one 
of  these."  ' 

Now,  undoubtedly  Dalrymplc  was  in  error  in 
accusing  Davies  of  borrowing  from  Withcr'3  trans- 
lation of  Nemesius's  De  Natitra  Hoininis,  for,  as 
Grosart  points  out,  Nosce  Tcipsum  was  j  iblishcd 
in  1599  and  Wither's  translation  of  Nen  us  did 
not  appear  in  print  until  1636.  He  wa:.  also  in 
error  in  making  such  a  sweeping  statement  as  "  I 
find  Sir  John  Davics's  poem  on  the  Immortality 
of  the  Soul  is  chiefly  taken  from  Ncmcsius,"  for 
the  contents  of  the  two  volumes  vary  greatly.  In 
the  first  place,  early  in  their  works,  both  writers 
treat  of  the  Fall  of  Man,  and  they  differ  in  their 
conceptions  of  the  consequences  of  the  Fall. 
Nemesius  conceives  of  these  as  moral ;  whereas 
Davies  represents  them  as  both  moral  and  intellec- 
tual. In  the  second  place,  in  his  refutation  of  Ma- 
terialism, Davies  to  a  certain  extent  moves  along 
lines  of  argument  differing  from  those  of  Neme- 
sius. In  the  third  place,  in  their  discussions  of  the 
*  Op,  cit.,  Mem.  Int.  pp.  Ixiii-lxvL 


46  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

reality  of  the  soul,  Davies  presents  an  elaborate 
refutation   of  Sensationalism,   whereas   Nemesius 
is  silent  on  this  formidable  theory.     In  the  fourth 
place,  Davies  treats  the  question  of  the  mode  of 
the  Soul's  origin  in  relation    to  the    body  much 
more  elaborately  and  after  a  different  fashion  than 
does  Nemesius.     They  differ  also  in  their  conclu- 
sions on  this  question.     Davies  is  a  Creationist, 
whereas  Nemesius  believes  in  the  doctrine  of  pre- 
existcnce.     In  the  fifth  place,  there  is  a  noticeable 
difference  in  their  psychological  analysis —  in  their 
analysis  and  division  of  mental  powers  or  "  facul- 
ties."     Davies  presents  a  different  classification, 
and  enumerates  more  "  faculties  "  than  does  Ne- 
mesius.    In  the  sixth  place,  there  is  a  difference  in 
their  treatment  of  the  subject  of  the  soul's  immor- 
tality.    The  treatment  of  Nemesius,  for  a  work  of 
such  a  character,  is  lamentably  and   inexcusably 
meagre  ;  whereas  Davies  presents  an  elaborate  dis- 
cussion, involving  numerous  arguments  for  belief 
in  immortality,  also  objections  and  replies,  as  well 
r,s  misgivings  and  answers.      In  all  of  these  funda- 
mental, as  well  as  in  many  minor  respects,  the  two 
works   differ  so  materially  that  an   accusation  of 
plagiarism  is  utterly  unjust.     Furthermore,  Davies 
reveals  such  great  obligations  to  other  thinkers  as 


Biographical  Sketch  47 

to  make  an  accusation  of  wholesale  plagiarism  from 
Nenicsius,  such  as  Dalrymple  makes,  absurd. 

But  while  this  may  be  said  without  fear  of  suc- 
cessful contradiction,  a  careful  comparison  of  Da- 
vies's  Nosce  Tcipsum  with  Nemesius's  De  Natiira 
Hominis  makes  it  impossible  to  agree  with  Gro- 
sart,  that  "  Not  one  line  was  taken  from  Nemesius  "  ; 
that  "  not  one  scintilla  of  obligation  suggests  it- 
self to  the  Reader  " ;  and  that,  with  regard  to  "  re- 
semblances and  suggestions,"  "there  is  not  a  jot  or 
tittle  of  cither."  On  the  contrary,  there  are  "  re- 
semblances and  suggestions  "  of  such  a  striking 
character  as  to  indicate  beyond  reasonable  doubt, 
that  Davies  was  familiar  with  the  Church  Father's 
work,  and  was  influenced  by  it  to  a  considerable  ex- 
tent. These  "  resemblances  and  suggestions"  will 
appear  in  our  further  study.  They  can  hardly  be 
accounted  for  on  grounds  of  coincidence,  or  of 
dealing  with  the  same  question.  They  indicate 
rather,  that  Davies,  like  every  intelligent  author, 
in  treating  his  subject,  inquired  into  what  his  pred- 
ecessors had  said  on  the  same  subject ;  and  that, 
in  so  doing,  he  found  himself  in  accord  with  some 
of  their  views,  and  received  valuable  suggestions 
from  them  in  forming  still  other  views.  They 
indicate,    further,  that  Nemesius   was    one   of  the 


^8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

predecessors  whcm  Davies  had  consulted  with 
advantage. 

Another  thinker  to  whom  our  poet  was  indebted 
is  Calvin.  This  is  manifest  in  the  more  specifi- 
cally theological  portions  of  Nosce  Teipsuuty  as  in 
the  discussion  of  the  Fall  of  man  in  the  fir&t  part 
of  the  poem;  and  the  problem  of  original  sin,  in 
the  second  part.  It  was  quite  natural  that,  in  seek- 
ing help  on  such  subjects,  he  should  turn  to  the 
works  of  a  theologian  whose  influence  was  domi- 
nant in  the  Protestant  theology  of  his  country.  A 
comparison  of  the  theological  portions  of  Nosce 
Tcipsum  with  Calvin's  Institutes  of  the  Christian 
Religion^  which  will  be  made  in  the  course  of  our 
interpretation  of  the  poem,  will  indicate  the  extent 
of  Davics's  obligation  to  the  Genevan  theologian. 

But  although  Davies  was  greatly  indebted  to 
these  thinkers — Aristotle,  Cicero,  Nemesius,  and 
Calvin  —  he  reveals  such  a  thorough  grip  on  the 
problems  of  the  philosophy  of  mind,  and  such  a 
unique  and  clever  way  of  dealing  with  them,  as  to 
make  his  philosophy  and  his  philosophical  poetry 
in  a  true  sense  his  own. 


CHAPTER  II 
OF  HUMAN    KNOWLEDGE 

TTAVING  thus  briefly  studied  the  history  of 
Davies  and  the  sources  of  influence  upon  his 
thinking,  let  us  next  turn  to  a  consideration  of  his 
philosophical  poem.  As  has  been  suggested  al- 
ready, his  most  elaborate  and  important  poem  is 
Nosce  Teipsum.  This  work  is  a  unique  produc- 
tion, presenting  as  it  does,  in  a  formal  manner, 
a  complete  rational  psychology  or  philosophy  of 
mind  in  verse.  It  is,  therefore,  pre-eminently  a 
didactic  poem — the  aim  being  to  present  syste- 
matically the  author's  speculations  on  the  pro- 
found problems  of  the  reality,  nature,  powers,  and 
destiny  of  mind.  The  thought  is  not  so  much  a 
means  to  an  end  as  is  the  poetry.  Poetry  is  used 
in  the  service  of  philosophy  more  than  philosophy 
is  used  in  the  service  of  poetry.  Light  is  to  be 
thrown  on  great  and  vital  problems,  and  poetry 
is  used  as  the  conduit  of  light. 

4 


$o  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

The  poem  is  divided  into  two  parts  —  the  first, 
dealing  with  human  knowledge;  the  second,  with 
the  reality,  nature,  origin,  powers,  and  immortality 
of  the  human  soul.     The  first    part  serves  as  an 
introduction    to    the    second.      In    it    the    poet 
takes  an  exceedingly  discouraging  view  of  human 
knowledge    and    of  the  mind's  capacity  to  know. 
Knowledge  is  mixed  with  error  and  man's  reason 
is  dark.     This  fact  admits  of  explanation.     It  was 
not  always   so.     Once  man  possessed    a   God-in- 
fused knowledge,  surpassing  anything  he  has  since 
acquired.     Once  Reason's  eye   was   "  sharpe  and 
cleere,"  capable  of  approaching  very  near  to  the 
"  Eternal  Light."     Thus  it  was  in  man's  paradisia- 
cal state.     This  was  his  intellectual  status  before 
the   I'^all.     l^ut   the    *'  Spirit  of  Lyes  "    suggested 
that  he  was  blind  because  he  knew  not  evil.     The 
Devil  could    not  show  evil    in  the  works  of  God 
while  man  stood  in  his  perfection.     If  man  was 
to  know  evil  he  must  first  do  evil.     This  he  did, 
and    the    result    was   fatal.     Man   "  made    Reason 
blind  "  "  to  give  Passion  eyes."      Through   these 
e)'cs  he  first  saw  the  foul  forms  of  misery  and  woe, 
of  nakedness  and  shame.     Reason  grew  dark  and 
could    no  longer  discern  the    fair  forms  of  Good 
and  Truth.     An  impaired    intellectual   and  moral 


Of  Human  Knowledge  5/ 

vision  was  the  outcome  of  man's  fatal   desire  to 

know : — 

"  Battes  they  became,  that  eagles  were  before  : 
And  this  they  got  by  their  desire  to  learne." 

And  we  arc  no  better  than  they.  We  continue 
to  cat  of  the  forbidden  fruit.  We  continue  to 
indulge  a  desire  to  learn.  We  turn  with  vain 
curiosity  to  find  hidden  knowledge  in  "  bookes 
prophane."  And  what,  indeed,  is  this  knowledge 
we  seek?     It  is  a  poor,  vain,  empty  affair.     What 

is  it  — 

"  but  the  sky-stolne  fire. 

For  which  the  t/iie/e  still  chain'd  in  ice  doth  sit? 
And  which  the  poore  rude  Satyre  did  admire. 
And  needs  would  kisse  but  burnt  his  lips  with  it. 

"  What  is  it  ?  but  the  cloud  of  emptie  raine. 

Which  when  loue's  guest  imbrac't,  hee  monsters  got? 
Or  the  i7i\st payies  which  oft  being  fild  with  paine, 
Receiv'd  the  water,  but  retain'd      not ! 

"  Shortly,  what  is  it  but  the  firic  coach 

Which  the  Youth  sought,  and  sought  his  death  withal  ? 
Or  the  boye^s  wings,  which  when  he  did  approch 
The  sunne's  hot  beanies,  did  melt  and  let  him  fall  ?" 

Thus  fruitless  is  our  search  for  knowledge.  After 
perusing  "  all  the  learned  Volumes,"  what  can  we 
know  or  discern  — 

"  When  Error  chokes  the  windowes  of  the  minde  ?  " 


53  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

What  can   we  know  when  Reason's  lamp  which, 

I  before  man's  Fall,  shone  throughout  his  small 
world,  like  the  sun  in  the  sky,  has  become  merely 

,  a  half-extinct  sparkle  under  ashes!  How,  under 
such  conditions,  can  we  recall  the  knowledge 
which  was  man's  original  possession  by  grace? 
A  man  painfully  earning  "  a  groate  a  day,"  might 
as  well  hope  to  replace  the  large  patrimony  wasted 
by  a  profligate  father.     The  utter  vanity  of  human 

I  efforts  after  knowledge  is  affirmed  by  those  who 
have  most  profoundly  considered  man's  capacity 

I  to  know.     They  have  found  that  with  us  — • 

*'  Skill  comes  so  slow,  and  life  so  fast  doth  flie, 
We  learne  so  little  and  forget  so  much." 

It  was  for  this  reason  that  the  Greek  philosopher 
said,  — 

"  '  He  knew  nought,  but  that  he  nought  did  know.'  '* 

And  there  was  no  mocking  when  "  the  great 
mocking-Master  "  said  that  "  *  Trut/i  was  buried 
deepc  below.' "  Furthermore,  how  can  we  expect 
I  to  know  things,  when  no  one  understands  himself 
—  his  own  soul?  Why  should  we  accept  the 
judgments  of  the  soul  concerning  things,  when  it 
is  unable  to  give  a  judgment  concerning  itself — 
as  to  the  how,  whence,  where,  and  what  of  its  own 


Of  Human  Kfiowledge  55 

existence?  We  seek  to  know  all  things  without, 
but  are  strangers  to  that  within  which  constitutes 
our  real  self.  Why  is  this  so?  Is  it  because  the 
mind  is  like  the  eye,  which  fails  to  see  itself  in 
seeing  other  things?  No!  For  the  mind,  while 
being  the  knowing  subject,  can  also  be  the  object 
of  its  own  knowledge.  The  real  trouble  lies  in 
the  cornipiion  of  the  mind.  "  She  is  so  corrupt, 
and  so  defac't,"  that  she  becomes  frightened  at 
her  own  image.  Just  as  the  fair  lady  in  the  fable, 
who  was  transformed  into  a  cow  because  of  her 
lust,  became  startled  and  fled  in  terror  on  behold- 
ing her  changed  self  reflected  in  the  stream,  loath- 
ing "  the  watry  glasse  wherein  she  gaz'd,"  so  it 
is  with  man's  soul.  Once  she  bore  the  image  of 
God,  being  fair,  and  good,  and  pure.  Now  her 
beauties  are  marred  by  sin,  and  she  — 

"  Doth  of  all  sights  her  owne  sight  least  endure." 

This  unsightliness  of  the  soul  leads  her  to  turn 
away  from  herself,  to  seek  delight  in  other  things. 
And  the  prospect  of  external  things  is  so  inviting, 
so  fair  and  agreeable,  so  sweet  and  alluring,  that 
the  mind  succeeds  in  completely  escaping  from 
herself:  — 

"  Tliese  things  transport,  and  cany  out  the  mind, 
That  with  her  selfe  her  selfe  can  neuer  meet." 


^4  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

There  is  one  thing,  however,  which  brings  the 
soul  back  to  herself.  It  is  affliction.  Just  as 
spiders  seek  the  inmost  part  of  their  webs  when 
touched ;  and  bees  return  to  their  hives  in  case 
of  storm ;  and  the  blood  gathers  to  the  heart 
when  danger  appears;  and  men  seek  the  towns 
when  foes  burn  the  country,  —  so  the  mind  leaves 
the  things  which  are  without,  and  returns  to  her- 
self within,  when  affliction's  wars  begin.  These 
nicnacings  of  affliction,  which  drive  the  mind  back 
to  herself,  — 


"  Teach  vs  to  know  our  seines  beyond  all  bookes, 
Or  all  the  learned  Schooles  that  euer  were." 


Our  poet,  referring  doubtless  to  the  disgrace  in- 
cident upon  his  quarrel  with  Martin,  and  his  con- 
sequent disbarment,  his  self-isolation  and  reflection, 
informs  us,  that  of  late  affliction  had  visited  him 
and  had  taught  him  "  many  a  golden  lesson."  It 
had  quickened  his  senses,  cleared  his  reason,  re- 
formed his  will,  and  rectified  his  thought.  It  gave 
boundaries  to  his  mind,  so  that  it  no  longer  ranged 
beyond  itself:  — 

"  My  selfe  am  center  of  my  circling  thought, 
Only  my  selfe  I  studie,  learne,  and  know." 

The  results  of  this  introspection  and  reflection 
are  presented    in   the  second  part  of  the  poem, 


Of  Human  Knowledge  55 

entitled,  0/  tJic  Soulc  of  Man  and  the  Immortalite 
tJureof. 

Before  entering  upon  a  study  of  this  second  part 
of  the  poem  it  may  be  well  to  observe  that  the 
tlieory  of  knowledge  contained  in  the  poet's  Intro- 
duction is  not  peculiar  to  Davies.  In  teaching  an 
intellectual  as  well  as  a  moral  Fall  of  man  he  was 
simply  expressing  a  view  which  was  in  accord  with 
the  prevalent  Protestant  theology  of  his  time.  It 
is  the  view  of  the  Fall  taught  by  Calvin  in  the 
Institutes  of  the  Christian  Religion,  and  attributed 
by  him  to  Augustine.  In  his  celebrated  work 
just  mentioned  Calvin  says:  "I  feel  pleased  with 
the  well-known  saying  which  has  been  borrowed 
from  the  writings  of  Augustine,  that  man's  natural 
gifts  were  corrupted  by  sin,  and  his  supernatural 
gifts  withdrawn ;  meaning  by  supernatural  gifts 
the  light  of  faith  and  righteousness,  which  would 
have  been  sufficient  for  the  attainment  of  heavenly 
life  and  everlasting  felicity.  Man,  when  he  with- 
drew his  allegiance  to  God,  was  deprived  of  the 
spiritual  gifts  by  which  he  had  been  raised  to  the 
hope  of  eternal  salvation.  Hence  it  follows,  that 
he  is  now  an  exile  from  the  kingdom  of  God,  so 
that  all  things  which  pertain  to  the  blessed  life  of 


5<J  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

the  soul  are  extinguished  in  him  until  he  recover 
them  by  the  grace  of  regeneration.  Among  these 
are  faith,  love  to  God,  charity  towards  our  neigh- 
bour, the  study  of  righteousness  and  holiness.     Ail 

t  these,  when  restored  to  us  by  Christ,  are  to  be 
regarded  as  adventitious  and  above  nature.  If  so, 
we  infer  that  they  were  previously  abolished.  On 
the  other  hand,  soundness  of  mind  and  integrity 

:  of  heart  were,  at  the  same  time,  withdrawn,  and  it 
is  this  which  constitutes  the  corruption  of  natural 
gifts.  For  although  there  is  still  some  residue  of 
intelligence  and  judgment  as  well  as  will,  we  can- 
not call  a  mind  sound  and  entire  which  is  both 
weak  and  immersed  in  darkness.  As  to  the  will, 
its  depravity  is  but  too  well  known.  Therefore, 
since  reason,  by  which  man  discerns  between  good 

I  and  evil,  and  by  which  he  imdcrstands  and  judges, 
is  a  natural  gift,  it  could  not  be  entirely  destroyed ; 
but  being  partly  weakened  and  partly  corrupted, 
a  shapeless  ruin  is  all  that  remains.  In  this  sense 
it  is  said,  (John  i.  5),  that  'the  light  shincth  in 
darkness,  and  the  darkness  comprehended  it  not ' ; 
these  words  clearly  expressing  both  points,  viz., 
that  in  the  perverted  and  degenerate  nature  of 
man  there  are  still  some  sparks  which  show  that 
he  is  a  rational  animal,  and  differs  from  the  brutes. 


Of  Human  Kuowledsie  t^y 

inasmuch  as  he  is  endued  with  intelligence,  and 
yet,  that  this  light  is  so  smothered  by  clouds  of 
darkness  that  it  cannot  shine  forth  to  any  good 
etTect.  In  like  manner,  the  will,  because  insepa- 
rable from  the  nature  of  man,  did  not  perish, 
but  was  so  enslaved  by  depraved  lusts  as  to  be 
incapable  of  one  righteous  desire."  ^ 

The  cumulative  evidence  of  Davies's  indebted- 
ness to  Calvin  is  such  that  it  seems  probable  that 
he  derived  his  conception  of  an  intellectual  Fall 
(which,  as  an  explicit  doctrine,  is  by  no  means 
common  in  Christian  Theology)  from  him.  Both 
thinkers  are  in  agreement  in  regard  to  man's  moral 
and  intellectual  status  before  the  Fall.  Man  was 
then  morally  pure,  and  possessed  of  great  intel- 
lectual strength.  Of  man's  mental  power  prior 
to  the  Fall  Calvin  says :  "  Man  excelled  in  these 
noble  endowments  in  his  primitive  condition,  when 
reason,  intelligence,  prudence,  and  judgment,  not 
only  sufficed  for  the  government  of  his  earthly 
life,  but  also  enabled  him  to  rise  up  to  God  and 
eternal  happiness." " 

To   the   same   effect,  and    in   similar  language, 

*  "  Institutes  of  the  Christian  Religion,"  trans,  by  Henry 
Heveridge.  Edinburgh,  1845,  Vol.  I.  Ilk.  II.  ch.  ii.  sec.  12.  All 
quotations  from  Calvin  are  from  lieveridge's  translation. 

3  Op.  cit..  Vol.  I.  Hk.  I.  ch.  xv.  sec.  8. 


^8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Davies   describes   the   intellectual   power  of  man 
before  the  Fall :  — 

"  And  when  their  reason's  eye  was  sharpe  and  cleere, 
And  (as  an  eagle  can  behold  the  sunne) 
Could  haue  approcht  th'  Eternall  Light  as  neere, 
As  the  intcllectuall  angels  could  haue  done,"  etc. 

Furthermore,  both  writers  affirm  a  great  intel- 
lectual and  moral  corruption  and  decline  to  be 
the  consequence  of  the  Fall.  Here  again,  in  the 
statement  of  the  consequences  to  man's  intellectual 
nature,  there  is  not  o^ly  sameness  of  teaching  but 
similarity  of  language.  Calvin,  as  we  have  seen 
in  the  quotation  above,  says :  *'  Reason,  by  which 
man  discerns  between  good  and  evil,  and  by  which 
he  understands  and  judges,"  became  weak  and 
corrupt,  and  his  previously  sound  mind  became 
*'  immersed  in  darkness."     So  Davies  affirms:  — 

"  But  then  grew  Reason  darke,  that  she  no  more. 

Could  the  faire  formes  of  C^o^/and  Truth  discern; 
Battes  they  became,  that  eaj^les  were  before : 
And  this  they  got  by  their  desire  to  learne.^^ 

Again,  they  use  similar  language  in  describing 
more  specifically  the  modicum  of  intelligence  left 
to  man  after  the  Fall.  Calvin  says,  as  we  have 
seen  above,  that  man  has  still  some  "sparks"  of 
intelligence  left;  but  "that  this  light  is  so  smoth- 


Of  Human  KuowleJge  59 

cred  by  clouds  of  darkness  that  it  cannot  shine 
forth  to  any  good  effect." 

Davies  likewise  affirms,  that "  Reason's  lampe  "  — 

•'  Is  now  become  a  sparkle,  which  doth  lie 
V'nder  the  ashes,  lialfe  extinct,  and  dead." 

And,  he  asks:  —  ! 

"  How  can  we  hope,  that  through  the  eye  and  eare, 
This  dying  sparkle,  in  this  cloudy  place. 
Can  recollect  these  beames  of  knowledge  cleere, 
Which  were  infus'd  in  the  first  minds  by  grace  ?  "  j 

So  that  we  find  not  only  a  sameness  of  doctrine 
here  but  also  a  striking  similarity  of  language  in 
which  the  doctrine  is  presented.  j 

Furthermore,  Calvin  in  this  same  chapter  (Bk.  II. 
ch.  ii.),  which  deals  with  the  Fall  of  man,  evaluates  ■ 
human  knowledge  just  as  Davies  does  in  this  con-  ' 
nection  in  the  verses  quoted  above.  Both  pro- 
nounce severely  on  its  emptiness  and  vanity.  He 
says:  "There  is,  therefore,  now,  in- the  human 
mind,  discernment  to  this  extent,  that  it  is  natu- 
rally influenced  by  the  love  of  truth,  the  neglect  of 
which  in  the  lower  animals  is  a  proof  of  their  gross 
and  irrational  nature.  Still  it  is  true  that  this  love 
of  truth  fails  before  it  reaches  the  goal,  forthwith 
falling  away  into  vanity.     As  the  human  mind  isi 


6o  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

unable,  from  dulness,  to  pursue  the  right  path  of 
investigation,  and,  after  various  wanderings,  stum- 
bling every  now  and  then  like  one  groping  in  dark- 
ness, at  length  gets  completely  bewildered,  so  its 
whole  procedure  proves  how  unfit  it  is  to  search 
the  truth  and  find  it."  * 

It  is  just  in  this  vein  that  the  poet  speaks  of 

'  the  vanity  of  human  knowledge  when  he  describes 
it  as  the  "  sky-stolne  fire "  by  kissing  which  the 

,  admiring  Satyr  burned  his  lips ;  and  as  "  the  cloud 

<  of  emptie  raine  "  which,  when  embraced  by  Jove's 

<  guest,  yielded  only  monsters ;  and  as  false  pails, 
which,  being  filled  by  painful  labor,  failed  to  retain 
the  water;  and  as  the  fiery  coach,  the  seeking  of 
which  brought  death  to  the  youth;  and,  finally, 
as  the  boy's  wings,  which,  as  he  approached  the 
sun,  melted  "  and  let  him  fall." 

Thus  early,  then,  in  the  poem,  do  we  find,  in 
the  similarity  of  thought  and  language,  evidence 
of  the  influence  of  Calvin  on  the  poet.  Further 
study  of  the  poem  will  make  this  influence  more 
manifest. 

After  Calvin's  time  the  doctrine  of  an  intellectual 
Fall  was  affirmed  by  the  Synod  of  Dort,  in  the 
following  words :  — 

»  Op.  cit..  Vol.  I.  Bk.  II.  ch.  ii.  sec.  12. 


Of  Human  Knowledge  6i 

"  Homo  ab  initio  ad  imagincm  DEI  conditus 
vera  ct  salutari  siii  Creatoris  ct  rcruin  spiritualium 
notitia  in  mcnte,  ct  justitia  in  voluntatc  et  cordc, 
puritatc  in  omnibus  affectibus  cxornatus,  adeoque 
totus  sanctus  fuit;  sed  Diaboli  instinctu,  et  libera 
sua  voluntatc  a  Deo  dcscisccns,  eximiis  istis  donis 
scipsum  orbavit:  atquc  e  contrario  eorum  loco 
coccitatcm,  horribilcs  tencbras,  vanitatem,  ac  per- 
versitatem  judicii  in  mente,  malitiam,  rebellionem, 
ac  duritiem  in  voluntatc  et  cordc,  impuritatcm 
dcnique  in  omnibus  affectibus  contraxit."  ' 

The  same  doctrine  is  affirmed  by  the  Reformed 
Dutch  Church  in  America,  it  being  an  adoption 
from  the  Canons  of  the  Synod  of  Dort.  "  Man 
was  originally  formed  after  the  image  of  God.  His 
understanding  was  adorned  with  a  true  and  saving 
knowledge  of  his  Creator,  and  of  spiritual  things; 
his  heart  and  will  were  upright;  all  his  affections 
pure,  and  the  whole  Man  was  holy ;  but  revolting 
from  God  by  the  instigation  of  the  devil,  and  abus- 
ing the  freedom  of  his  own  will,  he  forfeited  these 
excellent  gifts,  and  on  the  contrary  entailed  on 
himself  blindness  of  mind,  horrible  darkness,  vanity, 
and   perverseness   of  judgment;   because  wicked, 

*  Canones  Synodi  Dordrechtanae,  1618-1619,  Tertium  ct 
Quartum  Doctriiix  Caput,  Art.  Primus. 


62  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

rebellious,  and  obdurate   in   heart  and   will,   and 
impure  in  (ail)  his  affections."  * 

The  doctrine  of  an  intellectual  Fall  appears  also 
in  recent  theology.  It  is  involved  in  the  episte- 
mology  underlying  the  theology  of  some  modern 
German  theologians,  one  of  the  cardinal  features 
of  which  is,  that  man's  capacity  to  know  the  truth 
is  materially  affected  by  his  moral  character. 
Which  conception,  as  applied  to  the  doctrine  of 
the  Fall,  would  imply  at  least  this  much,  that  what- 
ever may  have  been  man's  intellectual  capacity 
prior  to  the  Fall,  the  Fall  being  a  moral  one,  ne- 
cessarily involved  an  intellectual  Fall  as  well. 
With  Davics  the  intellectual  power  of  man  in  the 
paradisiacal  state  was  exceedingly  great.  He  was 
an  intellectual  giant.  Reason,  as  we  have  seen,  was 
"sharpe  and  clcere,"  with  a  capacity  of  approach- 
ing very  near  to  the  "  Eternal  Light."  His  intellec- 
tual Fall  was  correspondingly  great.  It  was  a  serious 
jarkcning  of  the  moral  and  mental  vision.  And  this 
noral  impotency  has  been  entailed  upon  the  race. 
Icnce  the  disparaging  view,  taken  by  our  poet,  of 
luman  knowledge  and  man's  capacity  to  know. 

'  "  Constitution  of  the  Reformed  Church  in   America."     Cf. 
chaff, "  The  Creeds  of  Christendom."    New  York,  1877,  pp.  587- 


CHAPTER   III 
MEANS    BY   WHICH   THE   SOUL  IS   KNOWN 

TF  we  turn  now  to  the  second  part  o{  Nosce 
Tcipsum  we  are  brought  into  contact  with  the 
real  subject-matter  of  the  poem.  It  is  here  that 
the  poet  first  really  begins  to  philosophize.  We 
find  here  a  formal  development  in  verse  of  a  com- 
plete philosophy  of  mind.  This  second  part  of 
the  work  opens  with  a  statement  of  the  means  by 
which  knowledge  of  the  human  soul  is  to  be  at- 
tained. It  is  not  by  the  eye  of  sense,  he  tells  us, 
that  a  knowledge  of  the  soul  is  to  be  gained. 
Sense  deals  with  external  objects.  It  must,  there- 
fore, be  by  the  aid  of  some  other  method.  God 
has  infused  in  man  "an  inward  light"  by  which 
his  soul  can  gain  a  vision  of  herself.  The  soul, 
although  endowed  with  the  power  of  reflection, 
needs  divine  aid  to  sec  herself  aright.  The  poet, 
undertaking  the  study  of  his  soul,  realizes  all  the 
more  keenly  his  helplessness  without  divine  aid,  in 


64  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

view  of  the  ignorance  of  great  minds  concerning 
the  essential  nature  and  location  of  the  soul.  For, 
as  he  points  out,  — 

"  One  thinks  the  Soule  is  aire ;  another.yfr^/ 
Another  blood,  dififus'd  about  the  heart ; 
Another  saith,  the  elements  conspire, 
And  to  her  essence  each  doth  giue  a  part. 

** Musicians  thinke  our  Soules  are  harmonies, 
Phisicians  hold  that  they  complexions  bee ; 
Epicures  make  them  swarmes  of  atomies. 
Which  doe  by  chance  into  our  bodies  flee. 

"  Some  thinke  one  generall  Soule  fils  euery  braine, 
As  the  bright  sunne  sheds  light  in  euery  starre; 
And  others  thinke  the  name  of  Soule  is  vaine, 
And  that  we  onely  well-mixt  bodies  are. 

"  In  judgement  of  her  substance  thus  they  vary  ; 
And  thus  they  vary  in  iudgement  of  her  seat; 
For  some  her  chaire  vp  to  the  braine  doe  carry, 
Some  thrust  it  downe  into  the  stomackcs  heat. 

"Some  place  it  in  the  root  of  life,  the  heart ; 
Some  in  the  liuer,  fountaine  of  the  veines  ; 
Some  say,  Shee  is  all  in  all,  and  all  in  part : 
Some  say,  She  is  not  containd  but  all  containes. 

"Thus  these  great  clerks  their  little  v/isdome  show, 
While  with  their  doctrines  they  at  hacard  ]i\ay, 
Tossing  their  light  opinions  to  and  fro, 
To  mock  the  lewd,  as  learn 'd  in  this  as  they. 


Mi\jtis  hy  which  the  Soul  Is  Known  65 

"  For  no  craz'd  braine  could  euer  yet  propound, 

Touching  the  Sou/e,  so  vaine  and  fond  a  thought, 
iJut  some  among  these  masters  haue  been  found, 
Whicli  in  their  Si/iooUs{.\\c  self-same  thing  haue  taught" 

TIlis  diversity  of  human  opinion  and  confusion 
of  thought  concerning  the  nature  and  location  of 
the  soul  Davies  regards  as  God's  punishment  for 
pride  of  intellect.  God,  alone,  who  knows  the 
nature  and  powers  of  the  soul,  can  help  man  to 
this  knowledge.  And  the  poet  thinks  that  this 
divine  aid  has  come  to  him,  so  that  now  he  can 
understand  the  soul  in  her  essential  constitution. 
He  thinks  that,  by  the  light  of  the  "  clear  lampe  " 
of  God's  "  Oracle  diuine,"  he  is  now  able  to  trace 
the  subtle  lines  of  the  soul's  immortal  face. 


In  the  above  statement  of  means  by  which 
knowledge  of  the  soul  is  to  be  attained  the  poet  still 
seems  to  be  under  the  influence  of  an  epistemology 
born  of  theological  belief.  The  necessity  of  Divine 
aid  in  seeking  a  knowledge  of  God  and  the  soul 
is  a  characteristic  doctrine  of  Christian  theology. 
Calvin  affirms  it  as  an  essential  condition  of  our 
knowledge  of  God  and  our  relations  to  Him.'  This 
may  be  another  instance  of  the  influence  of  the 

1  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  II.  ch.  ii.  sees.  18,  19,  sq. 
5 


66  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

theologian  upon  the  poet-philosopher.  However, 
while  this  is  doubtless  true,  there  is  much  truth 
also  in  the  words  of  Professor  Morris :  "  But  guard 
against  supposing  that  Sir  John  Davies  could  be 
led  to  assert  the  indispensableness  of  this  light 
o*nly  out  of  deference,  or  from  blind  subjection,  to 
the  dictum  of  a  revealed  or  currently  established 
theology.  Christian  philosophy  does  indeed  as- 
sert this,  but,  not  only  Christian  philosophy,  all 
systems  of  affirmative  (not  negative,  empi»  il, 
*'  subjective  ")  Idealism,  be  they  called  afte  he 
names  of  Plato  or  Aristotle,  of  Descartes,  Spinoza 
or  Leibnitz,  of  Berkeley,  Kant  or  Hegel,  also  assert, 
in  some  form,  and  of  necessity,  the  same  thing. 
The  very  sense  of  philosophical  Idealism  is  to  put 
and  represent  man  in  direct  relation  with  the  Ab- 
solute Mind,  so  that  his  light  is  its  light,  and  its 
strength  is  made  his."  ' 

It  was  noted  above  that  Davies  felt  the  necessity 
of  divine  aid  in  his  study  of  the  human  soul  all 
the  more  because  of  the  confusion  of  thought  which 
reigned  among  "  the  great  wits  "  on  this  subject :  — 

•'  For  her  true  forme  how  can  my  sparke  discerne  ? 
Which  dim  by  nature,  Art  did  neuer  cleare  ; 
When  the  great  wits,  of  whom  all  skill  we  learn, 
Are  ignorant  both  what  shee  is,  and  where." 

1  Op.  cit.,  p.  65. 


Mi'iins  by  which  the  Soul  is  Known  6y 

And  then  he  illustrates  this  confusion  of  thought 
by  citing  numerous  examples.  Aristotle,  in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  De  Atiirna,  also  calls  attention  to  the 
variety  of  speculative  opinions  in  regard  to  the  soul.* 
So,  also,  do  Cicero,^  and  Nemesius.^  Taken  to- 
gether, they  refer  to  essentially  the  same  set  of  opin- 
ions as  to  the  nature  of  the  soul  found  in  Davies's 
list  of  references.  Davies,  however,  simply  cites 
the  opinions  and  does  not  give  the  names  of  their 
authors.  A  comparison  of  their  statements  will 
leave  no  doubt  as  to  the  sources  of  Davies's  infor- 
mation on  these  subjects.  It  will  also  acquaint  us 
with  the  ultimate  sources  of  these  speculative  views. 
The  first  opinion  of  the  soul  which  the  poet  cites 
is,  that  the  soul  is  air.  "  One  thinks  the  Soule  is 
aire."  Aristotle  says :  "  Diogenes  as  also  some 
others  resolved  soul  into  air,  supposing  that  this 
was  the  subtlest  of  all  things  and,  at  the  same 
time,  a  principle  of  existence."  *  Cicero  refers  to 
this  view  as  a  common  opinion.^  Nemesius  refutes 
the  doctrine  of  the  soul  as  air.** 

1  15k.  I.  ch.  ii. 

2  "  Disputationes  Tusculans,"  Lib.  I.  §§  9-1 1. 

*  Op.  cil.,  ch.  ii.  sec.  i. 

*  "  iJe    Anima,"    IJk.  I.    ch.   ii.   sec.   15.     All  quotations   are 
from  Wallace's  translation. 

'  Op.  cit.,  15k.  I.  sees.  9-1 1. 

*  O]).  cit ,  p.  94.    All  quotations  are  from  Wither's  translation. 


68  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

The  next  opinion  referred  to  is,  that  the  soul  is 
fire. 

"  One  thinks  the  Sou/e  is  aire ;  another.yfr^." 

Aristotle  says:  "Democritus,  whose  view  agrees 
with  that  of  Leucippus,  consequently  maintained 
soul  to  be  a  sort  of  fire  and  heat."  ^  Again,  "  He- 
raclitus  also  identifies  the  soul  with  his  principle 
in  describing  it  as  the  '  fiery  process'  out  of  which 
he  derives  other  existing  things,  his  ground  being 
that  it  is  that  which  is  least  corporeal  and  in  con- 
stant movement."  *  Cicero  says :  "  The  soul  seems 
to  Zeno  the  Stoic  to  be  fire."  ^  Nemesius  attributes 
this  conception  of  the  soul  as  fire  to  the  Stoics. 
"  The  Stoicks  affirm,  that  it  is  a  certain  Blast,  hot 
and  fiery"  * 

The  third  view  of  the  nature  of  the  soul  referred 
to  by  Davies  is,  that  it  is  blood:  — 

•♦  Another  blood,  diffus'd  about  the  heart. 

Aristotle  says :  "  Others  again,  like  Critias,  have 
identified  the  soul  with  blood,  regarding  sentiency 
as  the  most  distinctive  characteristic  of  the  soul 

1  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  I.  ch.  ii.  sec  3. 

2  Ibid.,  Hk.  I.  ch.  ii.  sec.  16. 

*  Op.  cit.,   Hk.  I.  sec.  9.    All  quotations  from  Cicero  are 
from  Yonge's  translation.     New  York,  1877. 

*  Op.  cit.,  p.  78. 


Means  by  which  the  Soul  is  Known  6g 

and  viewing  this  sentient  capacity  as  due  to  the 
clement  of  blood."  *  Cicero  says:  "  Empedocles 
imagines  the  blood,  which  is  suffused  over  the 
heart,  to  be  the  soul."^  So  Nemesius,  "  Cti/ias 
holds,  that  it  is  bloitd."'^ 

The  next  view  cited  by  Davies  is,  that  the  soul 
is  composed  of  the  four  elements:  — 

"Another  saith,  the  elements  conspire 
And  to  her  essence  each  doth  giue  a  part." 

Aristotle  says:  "Thus  Empedocles  makes  the 
soul  to  be  composed  of  all  the  elements,  and  at 
the  same  time  considers  each  one  of  these  ele- 
ments a  soul.     His  words  are  as  follows: 


*  Surely  by  earth  we  perceive  eartli,  and  man  knoweth  water     \ 
by  water, 
liy  air  sees  air  the  divine  ;  by  fire  sees  fire  the  destructive:     |; 
Yea,  love  comprehends  love,  and  'tis  through  strife  dismal    ji 
we  know  strife.' 

In  this  same  fashion  also  does  Plato  in  the  Ti-   (•] 
ma^us  construct  the  soul  out  of  the  elements."*      ' 
Again  Davies  says :  —  ' 

"  Musicians  thinke  our  Soules  are  harmonies. ^^  i 

h 

*  Op.  cit.,  lik.  I.  ch.  ii.  sec.  19.  I 

a  Op.  cit.,  iJk.  I.  sec.  9.  \\ 

*  Op.  cit.,  p.  78.  i  ) 

*  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  I.  ch.  ii.  sees.  6,  7.  i 


•JO  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Cicero  says:  "There  were  many  among  the  an- 
cients who  held  singular  opinions  on  this  subject, 
of  whom  the  latest  was  Aristoxenus,  a  man  who 
was  both  a  musician  and  a  philosopher.  He  main- 
tained a  certain  straining  of  the  body,  like  what  is 
called  harmony  in  music,  to  be  the  soul,  and  be- 
lieved that,  from  the  figure  and  nature  of  the  whole 
body,  various  motions  are  excited,  as  sounds  are 
from  an  instrument.  He  adhered  steadily  to  his 
system,  and  yet  he  said  something,  the  nature  of 
which,  whatever  it  was,  had  been  detailed  and 
explained  a  great  while  before  by  Plato."  *  Ne- 
mesius  refers  to  this  view  in  the  words;  "And, 
because  Dinarclius  defines  the  Soul  to  be  an 
Harmonie ;  [i.  e.  of  the  four  elements];  and  Sivt- 
ptias,  contradicting  Socrates,  affirms  the  same ; 
comparing  the  Soul  to  an  harfnonie,  and  the  body 
to  a  Harp  ;  we  will  here  set  downe  the  same  con- 
futations of  them,  which  we  find  in  Plaio's  T>\di' 
\og\xc  cdWcd  Phado" '^ 
Again,  Davies  says :  — 

"  Phisicians  hold  that  they  complexions  bee." 
Davies  refers  here,  doubtless,  to  the  view  of  the 
soul  which  he  takes  pains  later  to  refute ;   namely, 

*  Op.  cit.,  15k.  I.  sec.  lo. 

*  Op.  cit.,  p.  io8.     Not  "  Dinarchus,"  but  Dicxarchus. 


Means  by  which  the  Soul  is  Known  7/ 

the  view  wliich  identifies  the  soul  with  the  well- 
tcnipeicd  humors  of  the  body  —  or  "the  tempera- 
ture of  tlie  body."  The  word  "  complexions  "  is 
tlius  used  by  Nemcsius.  He  says:  "Some  will 
aske,  perhaps,  how  it  comes  to  passe,  (//  //le  soulc 
be  not  the  temperature  of  the  body')  that  men  are 
vitious  or  vcrtuous,  according  to  their  naturall  con- 
stitutious  and  complexions  :"^  etc.  The  view  of 
the  soul  thus  spoken  of  by  Davies  is  attributed 
by  Nemesius  to  the  physician  Galen.  He  says: 
"  Galefi,  hath  determined  nothing  peremptorily  of 
the  Soul;  }'ea,  hce  himselfc  affirmeth  plainly,  in 
his  writings  of  demonstration,  that  hee  hath  deliv- 
ered nothing  precisely  of  the  same :  But,  it  may  ■ 
be  collected  by  some  of  his  expressions,  that  he  1 
could  be  best  pleased  to  affirm  that  the  SoUL  is  a  i 
temperature."'^ 

Next,  Davies  refers  to  the  Epicurean  view  of  the  j 
soul :  — 

^^  Epicures  make  them  swarmes  of  atomies. 
Which  doe  by  chance  into  our  bodies  flee." 

Of  course,  as  Aristotle  antedates  Epicurus,  there  is 
no  reference  in  the  De  Anima  to  his  view.     But 
we  find  there  a  reference  to  the  atomic  theory  of  I  i 
the  soul.     Such  an  atomic  conception  is  involved; 
1  Op.  cit.,  p.  123.  a  Op.  cit.,  pp.  114-115. 


y2  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

in  the  views  of  Democritus  and  Leucippus  already 
referred  to.  The  spherical  atoms  according  to 
these  thinkers  constitute  fire.  And,  says  Aristotle, 
"  The  reason  why  they  maintain  that  the  spherical 
atoms  constitute  the  soul,  is  that  atoms  of  such 
configuration  are  best  able  to  penetrate  through 
everything,  and  to  set  the  other  things  in  motion 
at  the  same  time  as  they  are  moved  themselves, 
the  assumption  here  being  that  the  soul  is  that 
which  supplies  animals  with  motion."  ^  Cicero 
refers  to  the  atomic  theory  of  Democritus.^  Ne- 
mesius  refers  to  Epicurus's  view  of  the  Soul  in 
connection  with  Democritus  and  the  Stoics,  refut- 
ing them  as  Materialists  —  regarding  the  soul  as 
*'  body."  He  refers  to  the  atomism  of  Democritus 
only.^ 

Davies  next  refers  to  the  doctrine  of  a  universal 
soul.     He  says :  — 

"  Some  thinke  one  generall  Sou/e  fils  euery  braine. 
As  the  bright  sunne  sheds  light  in  euery  starre." 

Davies  may  refer  here  to  Plato's  doctrine  of  the 
"  world-soul,"  which  he  develops  in  the  PhcEdnts, 
Timans,  Philebus,  and  the  Laws.  Or,  his  refer- 
ence may  be  to  the  doctrine  mentioned  by  Neme- 

1  Op.  cit.,  15k.  I.  ch.  ii.  sec.  3. 

2  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  I.  sec.  11.  •  Op.  cit.,  pp.  78-79. 


Means  by  which  the  Soul  is  Known  7^ 

sins :  "  Besides  all  these,  some  were  of  opinion 
that  there  was  but  one  and  the  same  SoUL  be- 
longing to  all  things;  which  was  by  smal  por- 
tions distributed  to  all  particular  things;  and,  then 
gathered  into  it  self  againe:  of  which  opinion  were 
the  Manichecs  and  certain  others." '  This  was 
also  a  Stoic  conception, 
Davics  continues :  — 

*'  And  others  thinke  the  name  of  Soule  is  vaine. 
And  that  we  onely  well-mixt  bodies  are." 

According  to  Cicero,  Phcrecrates  held  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  soul,  "  but  that  it  is  a  name  with- 
out a  meaning;  and  that  it  is  idle  to  use  the  ex- 
pressions 'animals,'  or  'animated  beings';  that 
neither  men  nor  beasts  have  minds  or  souls,  but 
that  all  that  power  by  which  we  act  or  perceive 
equally  infused  into  every  living  creature,  and  i> 
inseparable  from  the  body,  for  if  it  were  not,  it 
would  be  nothing;  nor  is  there  anything  whatever 
really  existing  except  body."  ^ 

From  this  difference  of  opinion  in  regard  to  the 
substance  of  the  soul,  Davies  turns  to  a  similar  dif- 
ference of  opinion  in  regard  to  the  "seat"  or  loca- 
tion of  the  soul.     Neither  Aristotle  nor  Nemesius 

1  Op.  cit.,  pp.  81-82.  *  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  I.  sec.  lO. 


y4  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

discusses  the  opinions  of  "  the  great  wits  "  on  this 
subject,  although  they  discuss  at  length  the  rela- 
tion of  the  soul  to  the  body.  The  opinions  to 
which  Davies  refers  are,  first,  the  localizing  of  the 
soul  in  the  brain :  — 

"  In  iudgement  of  her  substance  thus  they  vary  ; 
And  thus  they  vary  in  iudgement  of  her  seat; 
For  some  her  chaire  vp  to  the  bralne  doe  carry." 

The  Pythagoreans  divide  the  soul  into  three  parts, 
Reason,  Mind,  and  Courage,  localizing  Reason 
and  Mind  in  the  brain,  and  Courage  in  the  heart.^ 
Plato  took  the  tripartite  view  of  the  soul  —  re- 
garding Reason  or  the  rational  part  of  the  soul  as 
localized  in  the  head.  In  that  singular  account  of 
the  formation  of  man  contained  in  the  TintcBus  he 
says :  "  That  which,  like  a  field,  was  to  receive 
the  divine  seed,  he  made  round  every  way,  and 
called  that  portion  of  the  marrow,  brain,  intending 
that,  when  an  animal  is  perfected,  the  vessel  con- 
taining this  substance  should  be  the  head ;  but  as 
touching  the  remaining  and  mortal  part  of  the  soul 
—  that  which  was  intended  to  contain  this  —  he 
divided  into  round  and  long  figures,  and  he  called 
them  all  by  the  name  '  marrow ' ;  and  from  these,  as 

*  Cf .  Zcller, "  Pre-Socratic  Philosophy,"  trans,  by  S.  F.  Alleyne, 
Vol.  L  pp.  480-481. 


Means  by  which  the  Soul  is  Known  y^ 

from  anchors,  casting  the  bonds  of  the  whole  soul, 
he  proceeded  to  fashion  around  them  the  entire 
framework  or  our  body,  constructing  for  the  mar- 
row, first  of  all,  a  complete  covering  of  bones."  * 
Strato  of  Lampsacus  also  localized  the  soul  in  the 
head.''*  This,  also,  was  the  view  of  those  writers  in 
the  Middle  Ages  who  identified  the  soul  with  the 
animal  spirits  which  were  supposed  to  be  the  re- 
sult of  transforming  the  vital  spirits  in  the  brain,  a 
more  specific  account  of  which  will  be  given  later. 
Davics  himself  regarded  the  brain  as  the  "seat" 
of  the  soul :  — 

•'  This  Lampe  through  all  the  regions  ol  my  braine. 

Where  my  soule  sits,  doth  spread  such  beames  of  grace." 

And  again :  — 

*'  Right  so  the  Soule,  which  is  a  lady  free, 

And  doth  the  iustice  of  her  State  maintaine; 
Uecause  the  senses  ready  seruants  be, 
Attending  nigh  about  her  Court,  the  braine." 

The  next  view  of  the  location  of  the  soul  to 
which  Davies  refers  is,  that:  — 

"  Some  thrust  it  downe  into  the  stomackes  heat." 

>  Timaus,  73,  Jowett's  trans.  C£.  also  Cicero,  op.  cit.,  Bk.  I. 
sec.  10. 

*  Zeller,  "  Outlines  of  the  History  of  Greek  Philosophy,"  trans., 
p.  225. 


^6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

This  view  has  been  attributed  to  the  Pythago- 
reans. But,  as  seen  above,  they  held  an  entirely 
different  conception. 

Again,   speaking  of  still    another  view  on  this 
subject,  he  says :  — 

"Some  place  it  in  the  root  of  life,  the  Agar/." 

This  view  of  the  *'  scat  "  of  the  soul  was  quite  com- 
mon among  the  Stoics.  "  This  fire  of  the  soul  is 
nourished  by  the  blood,  and  the  governing  part 
of  the  soul  (the  lyyefiovLKov)  has  its  seat  in  the 
heart,  the  centre  of  the  course  of  the  blood  (ac- 
cording to  Zeno,  Cleanthes,  Chrysippus,  &c.,  from 
whom  only  a  few  authors  deviate)."'  This  was 
also  a  common  conception  among  the  Hebrews. 

Another  view  referred  to  by  Davies  is,  that  some 
locate  the  soul  in  the  liver:  — 

"  Some  in  the  liuer,  fountaine  of  the  veines." 

Plato  locates  a  "  portion  "  of  the  soul  "  about " 
the  liver  which  he  makes  the  source  of  "  prophetic 
intimations."  Speaking  of  the  liver,  he  says: 
"  And  the  converse  happens  when  some  gentle 
inspiration  of  the  understanding  pictures  images 
of  an  opposite  character,  and  allays  the  bile  and 
bitterness  by  not  stirring  them,  and  refuses  to 
1  Ztller,  op.  cit.,  p.  244. 


A/t-Jws  by  which  the  Soul  is  Known  yj 

touch  the  nature  opposed  to  itself,  but  by  mak- 
ing use  of  the  natural  sweetness  of  the  liver, 
straightens  all  things  and  makes  them  to  be  right 
and  smooth  and  free,  and  makes  the  portion 
of  the  soul  which  resides  about  the  liver  happy 
and  joyful,  having  in  the  night  a  time  of  peace 
and  moderation,  and  the  power  of  divination  in 
sleep  when  it  no  longer  participates  in  sense  and 
reason."  ' 

And,  finally,  Davies  says:  — 

"  Some  say,  Shee  is  all  in  all,  and  all  in  part : 
Some  say,  She  is  not  containd  but  all  containes." 

He  probably  refers  to  the  views  of  Nemesius 
which  embody  all  that  is  expressed  in  these: 
n'ords.  Speaking  of  the  relation  of  soul  to  body 
the  Church  Father  says:  "For,  as  the  Sun^  soi 
soon  as  it  appcareth,  changes  the  ayrc  into  light ;  \t. 
so  making  it  lightsome,  and  so  diffusing  it  self© 
with  the  ayrcy  that  it  is  united  with  the  same,  and 


*  7»«itt//,  71,  Jowett's  trans.  Referring  to  the  Semitic  con^ 
ception,  Kennedy  says :  "  This  peculiar  sanctity  of  the  visceral 
fat,  is  to  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  liver  and  kidneys,  with 
the  fat  surrounding  them,  were  regarded  by  the  Semitic  races  as 
being  with  the  blood,  the  seat  of  life.  ..." 

"  Like  the  kidneys,  the  liver  was  also  regarded  as  an  important 
seat  of  emotion."  —  Hastings,  "  A  Dictionary  of  the  Bible."  New 
York,  1900,  p.  128, 


also, 

'w!ia 
)an't: 


7^  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

yet  not  confounded  therewith :  Even  so,  the  sou/ 
being  united  with  the  Bo^jy,  remains  without  con- 
fusion therewith;  differing  in  this  onely,  that  the 
Sutine  being  a  Body,  and  circumscribed  within  the 
compasse  of  Place,  is  not  himsclfe  in  every  place 
where  his  lig/it  is,  but  (as  fire  in  the  wood,  or  as 
the  flame  in  a  candle)  is  confined  to  a  certaine 
place. 

"  It  \^  not  so  with  the  soul.  For,  being  void  of 
all  Body,  and  not  contained  within  the  limits  of  any 
place,  it  passcth  all  and  whole,  through  its  own 
whole  light,  and  through  the  whole  Body,  wherein 
it  is;  neither  is  any  part  of  it  illuminated  thereby, 
wherein  it  is  not  fully  and  wholly  present.  Neither 
is  it  in  the  body  as  in  some  bottle  or  other  vesscll, 
nor  compassed  in  by  the  same ;  but  the  Body  is 
rather  in  the  sonic,  and  is  thereby  held  in  and 
fastncd  together."  '  Here  we  have  the  doctrine 
of  the  soul  being  "  all  in  all,  and  all  in  part";  and 
that  "  she  is  not  containd  but  all  containes." 
As  will  be  seen  later,  this  is  the  view  of  Davies 
also. 

This  variety  of  opinion,  then,  in  regard  to  the 
"what"  and  "where"  of  the  soul  indicated  to 
iDavics's  mind  the  ignorance  of  "the  great  wits" 
^  0]).  cit.,  pp.  197-199. 


Means  by  which  the  Soul  is  Known  jg 

on  these  subjects.  And  this  confusion  "  among 
men's  wits  "  was  God's  punishment  for  "  pride  of 
wit."  And,  if  such  great  minds,  "  of  whom  all 
skill  we  learn,"  were  unable  to  throw  light  on  these 
great  questions  of  the  soul,  Davies  felt  that  his 
own  mind,  — 

"Wliich  dimme  by  nature.  Art  did  neuer  clcare"; 

would  certainly  be  insufficient  for  such  knowledge, 
unless  aided  by  Divine  light.    I  lencc  the  prayer :  — 

"  O  Liiiht  which  mak'st  the  light,  which  makes  the  day  ! 
Which  setst  the  eye  without,  and  mind  within ; 
'Lighten  my  spirit  with  one  cleare  heauenly  ray, 
Which  now  to  view  it  selfe  doth  first  begin." 


CHAPTER  IV 
REALITY  OF  THE  SOUL. —  SENSATIONALISM 

T  TAVING  thus  explained  by  what  means  the 
soul  is  to  be  known,  Davies  proceeds  to 
unfold  to  us  his  philosophy  of  mind.  The  first 
problem  with  which  he  deals  is  the  reality  of 
mind. 

The  mind,  according  to  our  poet,  is  a  reality  — 
a  real  substance  and  spirit.  Though  united  to  the 
body,  which  serves  as  an  apt  means  for  the  exer- 
cise of  her  powers,  she  is  nevertheless,  so  far  as 
her  essential  being  is  concernc'd,  independent  of 
the  body.  This  reality  of  the  soul  is  affirmed  also 
in  its  relation  to  sense.  The  soul  is  not  merely  a 
derivative  of  sense.  Its  essential  being  consists 
not  in  sense,  but  in  higher  powers.  The  senses 
are  merely  the  servants  of  the  soul.  They  are 
mere  attendants  at  her  court  —  the  brain.  Now 
this  self-being  of  the  soul,  which  in  a  manner  is 
independent  of  the  body  and  the  senses,  is  greatly 
emphasized  by  Davies.     He  insists  upon  it  very 


Reality  of  the  Soul.  —  Sensatiomlism         8i 

early  in  the  second  part  of  his  poem,  and  maintains 
it  at  length  in  an  elaborate  argument  against  two 
prominent  types  of  Philosophy  —  Sensationalism 
and  Materialism,  The  theory  of  Sensationalism, 
which  explains  all  of  the  higher  activities  of  mind, 
such  as  memory,  imagination,  conception,  judg- 
ment, reasoning,  will,  etc.,  and,  indeed,  the  very 
mind  itself,  on  the  basis  of  sensations  and  their 
mechanical  groupings,  is  such  a  formidable  theory, 
involving  such  serious  consequences,  that  the  poet 
enters  upon  an  elaborate  consideration  of  it, 
earnestly  attempting  its  refutation.  His  argument 
proceeds  as  follows:  — 

Attention  is  first  called  to  certain  modes  of  the 
mind's  functioning  which  Davies  considers  to  be 
essentially  dififerent  from  sense,  and  then  he  pro- 
ceeds to  show  that  the  mind  cannot  be  a  deriva- 
tive of  sense  because  of  the  sui  generis  character 
of  these  higher  modes  of  functioning  which  are 
expressive  of  the  mind's  essential  nature.  In  the 
first  place,  the  mind  has  the  power  of  scientific 
generalization  —  of  gathering  — 

"  From  many  cases  like,  one  rule  of  Law." 

This  work  of  generalization  is  not  the  work  of 
sense.     Again,  the  mind  has  the  power  of  seeking 


82  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

the  causes  of  things,  and  this  functioning  according 
to  the  law  of  cause  and  effect  is  done  without  the 
aid  of  sense.  Again,  the  mind  has  the  power  of 
functioning  according  to  the  law  of  means  and 
ends,  and  this  power  is  her  own,  underived  from 
sense.  She  has  the  power  also  of  rational  imagi- 
nation, of  definition,  of  argument,  of  making  moral 
distinctions  —  in  short,  the  power  of  rational  intel- 
lect and  will,  and  these  pow(TS,  so  far  as  their 
essential  nature  is  concerned,  are  independent  of 
sense.  But  while  thus  original  and  underived  from 
sense,  the  mind  in  these  fundamental  modes  of  her 
energizing,  does  not  act  out  of  all  relation  to  sense. 
Davics  approaches  close  to  the  Kantian  position 
here.  The  rational  soul  without  sense  would  be 
empty,  and  sense  without  the  rational  soul  would 
be  blind.  Speaking  of  the  soul,  in  her  relation  to 
sense,  he  says :  — 

"  Nor  can  her  selfe  discourse  or  iudge  of  ought. 
But  vvliat  the  Sense  collects  and  home  doth  bring 
And  yet  the  power  of  her  discoursing  thought, 
From  these  collections,  is  a  diuers  thing. 

*'  For  though  our  eyes  can  nought  but  colours  see, 
"V  et  colours  giue  them  not  their  powre  of  sight ; 
So,  though  these  fruits  of  Si-fise  her  obiects  bee, 
Yet  she  discernes  them  by  her  proper  light. 


Reality  of  the  Soul.  —  Sensationalism         8j 

•'The  workman  on  liis  stufTc  his  skill  doth  show, 
And  yet  tlie  stuffe  giues  not  the  man  his  skill; 
Kings  their  affaires  do  by  their  scruants  know, 
But  order  them  by  their  owne  royal!  will. 

"  So,  though  this  cunning  mistresse  and  this  queene, 
Doth,  as  her  instrument,  the  Senses  vse. 
To  know  all  things  that  are /«■//,  heard,  or  seene^ 
Yet  she  her  selfe  doth  onely  iudge  and  chuse.''^ 

After  a  little  further  illustration  of  the  dif- 
ference and  relations  between  sense  and  soul, 
he  enters  more  specifically  upon  his  argument 
to  prove  that  the  latter  is  not  derived  from  the 
former ;  — 

If  the  soul  be  merely  "  a  fine  perfection  of  the 
sense,"  then  what  is  that  which  accuses  sense  of 
false  judgments  and  of  fond  appetites,  and  leads  us 
to  do  that  which  is  obnoxious  to  sense?  An  analy- 
sis of  judgment  proper  and  of  moral  discernment 
and  choice  reveals  the  fact  that  their  nature  is 
something  other  than  sense.  Again,  it  is  further 
evident  that  there  are  powers  of  mind  which  are 
essentially  different  from  sense.  If  there  were  not, 
then  those  in  whom  the  senses  are  sound,  should 
have  sound  minds.  That  is,  most  of  wisdom  and 
least  of  folly.  However,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  this 
is  not  the  case.     Wisdom  usually  comes  with  age, 


84  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

and  decay  of  the  senses  accompanies  age.  On 
the  other  hand,  folly  usually  characterizes  those  of 
quickest  sense: 

Again,  if  all  mental  life  is,  in  the  final  analysis, 
naught  but  sense,  then  animal  intelligence  would 
be  superior  to  human  intelligence;  for  animals,  as 
a  rule,  are  possessed  of  keener  sense  than  man. 
But  animal  intelligence  is  inferior  to  human  intelli- 
gence. Animals  are  wanting  in  reasoning  power 
—  in  "that  qtiickc  discoursing  power"  by  which 
the  erroneous  judgments  of  sense  are  rectified. 
This  is  manifest,  for  example,  in  the  case  of  the 
bee  that  seeks  for  honey  in  the  painted  flower;  and 
in  birds  that  peck  the  shadow  for  the  fruit.  Again, 
there  is  a  difference  between  sense  and  soul.  Sense 
deals  with  the  forms  or  externals  of  things.  Soul, 
on  the  other  hand,  penetrates  them  —  grasping 
their  essential  natures.  But,  really,  to  speak  accu- 
rately, says  the  poet,  it  is  incorrect  thus  to  separate 
sense  and  soul.  Sense  is  really  a  power  of  soul  — 
one  aspect  of  the  soul's  activity.  Through  the 
various  senses  the  soul  acquaints  herself  with  the 
divers  forms  of  objects.  While  the  sense  spreads 
outward,  it  nevertheless  has  its  root  in  the  soul. 
Sense  in  itself  would  be  blind.  It  could  not  per- 
ceive objects.     It  is  the  soul  that  perceives.     Eyes 


Reality  of  the  Soul.  —  Sensationalism         8^ 

and  cars  know  no  more  of  their  objects  than  do 
glasses  of  the  faces  which  they  reflect.  This  is 
quite  evident  when  we  remember  that  if  thought 
be  elsewhere,  we  often  fail  to  see  things  even 
though  the  eyes  be  open.  And  if  there  were  not 
a  unitary  power  which  both  sees  and  hears,  our 
sights  and  sounds  would  be  double.  It  is  the  soul, 
then,  that  really  perceives.'  Sense,  he  repeats, 
without  soul,  would  be  blind;  just  as  the  judg- 
ments of  the  soul  without  the  materials  of  sense 
would  be  empty.  In  view  of  the  foregoing  reasons, 
Davics  concludes  that  the  position  of  Sensational- 
ism is  untenable  —  that  the  soul  is  something  more 
than  a  "  fine  perfection  of  the  sense  "  —  that  it  is 

'  Compare  these  words  with  those  of  Cicero,  who  says: 
"  For  not  even  now  is  it  with  our  eyes  that  we  view  what  we  see, 
for  the  body  itself  has  no  senses ;  but  .  .  .  there  are  certaia 
perforated  channels  from  the  seat  of  the  soul  to  the  eyes,  cars, 
and  nose ;  so  that  frequently,  when  either  prevented  by  medita- 
tion, or  the  force  of  some  bodily  disorder,  we  neither  hear  nor  see, 
though  our  eyes  and  ears  are  0|)en  and  in  good  condition  ;  so  that 
we  may  easily  apprehend  that  it  is  the  soul  itself  which  sees  and 
hears,  and  not  those  parts  which  are,  as  it  were,  but  windows  to 
the  soul,  by  means  of  which,  however,  she  can  perceive  nothing, 
unless  she  is  on  the  spot,  and  exerts  herself.  How  shall  we  ac- 
count for  the  fact  that  by  the  same  power  of  thinking  we  compre- 
hend the  most  different  things  —  as  color,  taste,  heat,  smell,  and 
sound  —  which  the  soul  could  never  know  by  her  five  messengers, 
unless  everything  were  referred  to  her,  and  she  were  the  sole 
judge  of  all."  —  Op.  cit.,  l!k.  I.  sec.  20. 


86  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

a  distinct,  unitary  agent,  —  sense  itself  being  one 
of  its  modes  of  functioning:  — 

"  Then  is  the  Sou/g  a  nature,  which  containes 
The  powre  of  Sense,  within  a  greater  power 
Which  doth  imploy  and  vse  the  Senses  paines, 
But  sits  and  rules  within  her  priuate  bower." 


The  theory  of  Sensationalism,  which  our  poet 
so  earnestly   endeavors    to    refute,  is    quite  con- 
spicuous   in    the  history  of   speculative    thought. 
Among  the  Ancients,  it  was  taught  by  the  Sophists 
and  the  Sceptics.     Among  the  Moderns,  Hobbes, 
Hume,  Condillac,  Hartley,  James  Mill,  Comte,  John 
Stuart  Mill,  Lewes,  Spencer,  and  others,  are    its 
disciples.     There  are  three  aspects  or  forms  of  the 
theory,  the  psychological,  ontological,  and    epis- 
temological.     Sensationalism  from  the  psychologi- 
cal point  of  view  endeavors  to  explain  all  mental 
life  on  the  basis  of  sensations  grouped  according 
to  certain  mechanical  laws,  usually  called  laws  of 
association.     Given  the  raw  materials  of  sensations, 
.  and  combining  them  according  to  these  laws,  all 
I  the  higher  forms  of  mental  activity,  as  conception, 
judgment,  reasoning,  willing,  etc.,  can  be  accounted 
Ifor.     They  are  all  derivations  of  sense.     Or,  bc- 
[ginning  analytically  with    the    highest    forms    of 


Reality  of  the  Soul.  —  Sensationalism         8j 

mental  life,  by  a  kind  of  psychological  chemistry 
we  arc  enabled  to  analyze  them  into  their  ultimate 
elements  —  sensations.  This  psychological  aspect 
of  Sensationalism  is  common  to  all  advocates  of 
tlie  theory. 

There  is  but  a  short  step  from  the  psychological 
to  the  ontological  aspect  of  the  theory.  Viewed 
from  this  standpoint,  not  only  all  the  higher  modes 
of  mental  life  are  explainable  on  the  basis  of  sen- 
sations and  their  mechanical  groupings,  but  the 
mind  itself  is  thus  explained.  It  has  no  other 
being  than  that  of  sensations  and  their  ideas, 
united  by  the  laws  of  association.  There  is  no 
unitary  subject  of  conscious  states  —  no  unitary, 
distinct  individual  agent,  manifesting  itself  in  man- 
ifold forms  of  activit)',  such  as  perceiving,  remem- 
bering, thinking,  willing,  etc.  The  idea  of  an 
agent  functioning  in  certain  forms  is  foreign  to 
these  thinkers.     Man  is  merely  — 

'♦  A  willy-nilly  current  of  sensations." 

Or,  as  Hume,  the  prince  of  Sensationalists,  has 
put  it,  "  a  bundle  of  perceptions."  Sometimes  I 
this  position  is  in  the  interests  of  an  idealistic  inter- 
pretation of  the  ultimate  nature  of  reality,  as  in  the 
case  of  Hume's  philosophy.  Again,  it  favors  a 
materialistic  philosophy,  as  in  the  case  of  Spencer 


88  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

—  sensations  being  conceived    as  mere  modes  of 
nervous  motion,  or  "  nervous  shocks." 

Viewed    from    an    epistemological    standpoint, 
Sensationalism  lands  us  in  scepticism  or  agnos- 
ticism.    It  leads  to  scepticism  by  making  sense 
the  only  source  of  knowledge.     Thus  it  necessarily 
implies  the  relativity  of  knowledge  —  that  knowl- 
edge is  relative  to  each  individual,  and  as  each  in- 
dividual  differs  from  every  other,  there   can  be  no 
universal  factor  which  real    knowledge  demands. 
This  is  clearly  brought  out  in  the  philosophy  of 
I'rotagoras,  as  embodied  in  his  famous  saying,  that 
"  Man  is  the  measure  of  all  things"  —  meaning  by 
man,  each  individual    man,    and    each    individual 
man  in  the    immediacy  and    individuality  of    his 
character  as  distinguished  from  his  universal  char- 
acter   as    revealed    in    his   rationality.     In    other 
words,  all  knowledge  being  sense  knowledge,  "  and 
as  sensations  differ  for  different  individuals,  a  thing 
seeming  green  to  one  and  blue  to  another,  large  to 
one  and  small  to  another,  it  follows  that  there  are 
as  many //"/^///i"  as  individuals;   that  the  individual 
is  the  measure  of  the  true  and  the  false ;   .  .  .  that 
there  are  no  universally  valid  truths  or  principles, 
or,    at  least,    that    we    have   no   certain     criterion 
(KpiTTjpiop)   by  which  we  recognize  the    absolute 


Reality  of  the  Soul.  —  Sensationalism         8(^ 

truth  of  a  metaphysical  or  moral  proposition. 
Tiie  individual  is  the  measure  of  the  true  and  the 
good.  .  .  .  It  is  not  possible  for  us  to  prove  any- 
thing but  the  particular  fact  of  sensation;  still 
more  impossible  is  it  to  know  the  causes  or  ulti- 
mate conditions  of  reality,  which  escape  all  sense- 
perception,"  '  Much  of  our  modern  agnosticism  is 
based  on  Sensationalism.  It  recognizes  sensations 
as  the  ultimate  objects  of  knowledge.  The  objects 
or  grounds  of  these  sensations  cannot  be  reached 
by  the  human  mind.  The  so-called  thought-rela- 
tions, by  which  it  is  supposed  we  reach  the  reality 
beyond  sensations,  being  resolved  into  relations 
merely  between  sensations  themselves. 

Now,  of  these  three  aspects  of  Sensationalism, 
Davies  deals  with  the  first  two  —  the  psyciiologi- 
cal  and  the  ontological.  And  he  deals  with  the: 
psychological  as  leading  up  to  the  ontological, 
with  which  he  is  primarily  concerned.  In  his 
treatment  of  Sensationalism,  he  in  no  respect 
underestimates  its  force,  but  he  undoubtedly  suc- 
ceeds in  detecting  its  vulnerable  point.  In  oppo- 
sition to  it,  he  affirms  the  reality  of  the  mind  as 
a  distinct  agent  underived  from  any  elementary 
mind-stuff  in    the   form    of    sense    or    sensations. 

^  Weber's  "  History  of  Philosophy,"  trans,  by  F.  Thilly.    New 
V'>'k,  I  Soft.  pp.  Co-()\. 


po  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

The  reason  for  such  affirmation,  according  to  him, 
is  the  consciousness  of  the  existence  of  such  an 
agent  in  the  exercise  of  its  fundamental  powers  — 
wit  and  will.  The  mind's  real  being  consists  in 
these  fundamental  modes  of  psychical  functioning, 
and  these  powers  cannot  be  derived  from  sense, 
but  are  original,  underived,  native  powers  of  the 
soul.  That  this  is  so,  he  affirms,  is  evident  from 
the  fact  that  they  correct  the  testimony  of  sense; 
they  do  what  is  obnoxious  to  sense ;  they  lead  us 
in  directions  counter  to  sense ;  that  sense  would 
be  blind  without  the  rational  soul ;  and  that,  after 
all,  sense  itself  is  but  an  aspect  or  form  of  the 
soul's  activity.  He  views  the  mind  activity-wise, 
rather  than  merely  content-wise  as  does  the  sen- 
sationalist; and  insists  just  as  emphatically,  al- 
though in  a  much  less  thorough  fashion,  as  did 
Kant  in  his  immortal  Critique  of  Pure  Reason  on 

I  the  native  activity  of  mind  in  its  relation  to  sense. 
And  he  further  insists,  that  this  underived  mental 

i  activity  is  the  activity  of  a  spiritual  or  psychical 
agent  whose    existence  and  essential  nature    are 

I  revealed  in  and  by  this  activity  itself:  — 

"  Then  her  selfc-beittii  nature  shines  in  this, 

That  she  performcs  her  noblest  works  alone  ; 
The  ivorke,  the  touch-stone  of  the  nature  is, 
And  by  their  operations,  things  are  knovvne." 


Rdility  of  tbe  Soul.  —  Sensationalism         gi 

The  distinction  between  sense  and  the  rational 
soul  wliich  Davics  insists  upon  is  thoroughly  Aris- 
totelian. In  his  refutation  of  Sensationalism,  and 
later  in  his  analysis  of  the  powers  of  the  soul, 
Davies  is  in  accord  with  three  positions  of  Aris- 
totle: (i)  That  there  is  an  essential  distinction 
between  sense  and  the  rational  soul.  (2)  That  the 
rational  soul,  unlike  sense,  is  independent  of  the 
bodily  organism.  (3)  That  the  rational  soul  is 
"  the  source  of  general  ideas."  On  these  points 
Aristotle  says :  "  This  consideration  shews  how 
improbable  it  is  that  reason  should  be  incorporated 
with  the  bodily  organism:  for  if  so,  it  would  be 
of  some  definite  character,  cither  hot  or  cold,  or 
it  would  have  some  organ  for  its  operation,  just 
as  is  the  case  with  sense.  But,  as  matter  of  fact, 
reason  has  nothing  of  this  character.  There  is 
truth,  too,  in  the  view  of  those  who  say  the  soul 
is  the  source  of  general  ideas;  only  it  is  soul  not 
as  a  whole  but  in  its  faculty  of  reason  :  and  the 
forms  or  ideas  in  question  exist  within  the  mind, 
not  as  endowments  which  we  already  possess,  but 
only  as  capacities  to  be  developed."  ^  And  he  fol- 
lows with  an  explanation  of  the  dififerences  between 
ihe  "faculty  of  reason"  and  the  "  faculty  of  sense."  ' 

*  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  III.  ch.  iv.  sec.  4.  '  Ibid.,  sees.  5-8. 


CHAPTER  V 
REALITY  OF  THE  SOUL.  —  MATERIALISM 

'Hp^HUS  far  the  poet  has  dealt  with  Sensational- 
ism.  He  considers  next  another  theory  that 
denies  the  reality  of  the  soul  as  a  distinct,  unitary 
spiritual  agent,  —  and  this  is  Materialism.  Several 
forms  or  aspects  of  this  theory  are  considered  by 
Davics,  the  first  of  which  he  indicates  in  the  last 
line  of  the  following  stanza.  Speaking  of  the  soul 
he  says :  — 

"  She  is  a  substance,  and  a  reall  thing, 

Which  hatli  it  selfe  an  actual!  working  might; 
Which  neither  from  tlie  Senses'  power  doth  spring, 
Nor  from  the  bodie'§  humors,  tcmpred  right." 

The  theory  of  Materialism  indicated  in  the 
words  of  the  last  line  of  this  stanza  is  undoubtedly 
tiic  old  theory  which  identified  the  soul  with  the 
wcU-tcmpcred  humors  of  the  body,  or  with  the 
so-called  vital  and  animal  spirits.  The  blood  was 
considered  the  noblest  humor,  and  it  was  sup- 
posed by  some  that  the  heart  prepared  the  vital 


Reality  of  the  Soul,  —  Miiterialism  g) 

spirits  out  of  the  blood.  Then  the  vital  spirits 
were  refined  in  tlie  cavities  of  the  brain  into  ani- 
mal spirits,  which  were  supposed  to  be  the  soul 
or  spirit  of  man.  So  that  tiiis  is  what  Davies 
means  by  the  words :  — 

♦•  How  gross  are  they  that  drown  her  In  the  blood  ! 
Or  in  the  bodie's  liumors  tempred  well." 

Against  such  a  conception  of  the  soul  Davies  urges 
the  following  argument:  — 

Such  a  conception  would  mean,  that  one  with 
the  best  tempered  body  would  be  possessed  of  the 
best  mind,  which  would  be  the  same  as  affirming 
that  the  musician  with  the  best  instrument,  and 
the  best  tuned  instrument,  had  the  most  skill,  and 
that  the  neat  pencil  and  clear  colors  made  the  | 
painter.  If  we  are  to  thus  regard  the  soul,  why 
does  not  a  beautiful  body  refine  the  understand- 
ing? Why  does  not  a  good  complexion  rectify 
the  will?  Why  docs  not  health  bring  wisdom, 
and  sickness  make  men  brutish?  Furthermore, 
who  can  find  in  the  faculties  of  the  soul  —  in 
memory,  or  understanding,  or  will  —  aught  of  those 
original  elements,  air,  fire,  earth,  or  water,  from! 
which  it  is  supposed  these  humors  spring?  What 
skillful   alchemist   can   draw   the    quintessence  of 


iit:: 


g4  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

these  from  the  mind?     Again,  if  the  h'feless  and 
senseless  elements  can  produce  in  us  so  great  a 
power  as  the  soul,  why  do  they  not  give   them- 
selves, as  well  as  other  things  with  which  they  are 
mixed,  a  like  excellence?     Again,  if  the  soul  were 
merely  a  quality  of  the  body,  then  would  she  be 
sick,    maimed,   and    blind   when    the   body  is  so. 
Instead  of  this,  however,  we  often  find  a  healthy, 
,    sharp-sighted,  perfect  soul  where  these  privations 
1   arc   manifest.      If  the   soul   thus  partook  of  the 
;  nature  of  the  body  then  would  her  strength  decay 
,  :  with  the  decay  of  the  strength  of  the  body.     But 
1     as  a  matter  of  fact,  "when  the  bodie's  strongest 
]    siiicwcs  slake,"  the  soul  is  most  active.     Again,  if 
^    the  soul  were  a  mere  accident  of  the    body,  as 
y  I  whiteness  is  an  accident  of  snow,  then  she  might 
1. !  absent  herself  from  the  body  without  being  missed 
!,,  I  by  the  substance  thereof     But  this  is  not  so.     It 
^  ^  is  the  body  that  depends  on  the  soul,  and  not  the 
J  Isoul  that  depends  on  the  body.     It  is  the  soul  that 
:,  sustains  and  cherishes  the  body.     It  is  she  that 
lends  the  secret  powers  of  life  to  it.     When  these 
life-giving  powers  of  the  soul  are  withdrawn,  the 
body  perishes.     In  short,  the  physical  organism 
11  itself  considered,  apart  from  the  soul,  is  a  dead, 
ncrt  thing.     Hence    Davies   concludes,    that   the 


Reality  of  tbe  Soul.  —  Materialism  95 

soul  must  not  be  identified  with  the  well-tempered 
humors  of  the  body, 

•'  Since  tlien  the  Sou/e  works  by  her  selfe  alone, 

Spritti^s  not  from  Sense,  nor  humors,  well  a^teingj 
Her  nature  is  peculiar,  and  her  owne  : 
She  is  a  substance,  and  i. perfect  being" 


In  discussing  this  theory  of  the  identification 
of  the  soul  with  the  well-tempered  humors  of  the 
body,  Davics  has  probably  in  mind,  as  was  pre- 
viously suggested,  some  form  of  the  doctrine  of 
"  spirits "  so  commonly  accepted  in  the  Middle 
Ages  and  even  after  his  own  time.  The  doctrine 
was  held  in  different  forms  and  dates  back  to 
Greek  and  Alexandrine  thought.  But  the  form 
prevalent  in  medieval  times  was  that  of  the  theory 
of  Galen.  Lange  says,  that  "  Galen's  theory  of 
the  psychical  and  'animal  spiritus*  in  connection 
with  the  doctrine  of  the  four  humors  and  the  tem- 
peraments was  very  early  in  the  Middle  Ages 
fused  with  the  Aristotelian  psychology.  Accord- 
ing to  this  doctrine,  which  may  be  found  at  full 
length  even  in  Melancthon's  Psychology,  the  four 
fundamental  humors  are  prepared  in  the  liver 
(second  organic  process  after  the  first  has  taken 
place  in  the  stomach)  ;  out  of  the  noblest  humor, 


g6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

the  blood,  the  *  spiritus  vitalis '  is  prepared  by  a 
new  process  in  the  heart;  and  this  is  finally  (the 
fourth  and  last  process)  in  the  cavities  of  the 
brain  refined  into  the  '  spiritus  animalis.'  "  '  When 
our  poet,  in  his  refutation  of  the  theory  that 
identifies  the  soul  with  the  humors,  asks  the 
question :  — 

"  Who  can  in  memory,  or  wit,  or  will. 

Or  ayre,  ox  fire,  or  earth,  or  water  finde  ? 
What  alchymist  can  draw,  with  all  his  skil, 
The  quintessence  of  these,  out  of  the  mind  ?  " 

he  has  undoubtedly  in  mind  the  four  elements  of 
Empcdocles,  to  which  the  chief  humors  of  the 
body  were,  by  Galen  and  others  before  and  after 
him,  supposed  to  correspond." 

The  crass  materialism  which  identified  the  mind 
with  these  well-tempered  humors  of  the  body,  was 
obnoxious  to  Davies,  and  he  repudiated  it,  giving 
his  reasons  for  so  doing  as  stated  above.  In  his 
refutation  of  the  theory  he  puts  forth  a  view  of  the 
relation  of  the  soul  to  the  body  which  is  exceed- 
ingly interesting.     According  to  our  poet,  it  is  not 

*  "  History  of  Materialism,"  trans,  by  E.  C.  Thomas.  Boston, 
1877,  Vol.  I.  pp.  237-238. 

^  Cf.  J.  II.  liass,  "  Outlines  of  the  History  of  Medicine,"  trans, 
by  II.  K.  Ilanderson.     New  York,  1S99,  pp.  loi  sq.  and  107  sq. 


Rejlity  of  the  Soul,  —  Materialism  97 

the  soul  tliat  is  dependent  on  the  body,  but  rather 
the  body  that  is  dependent  on  t!ie  soul.  The  very 
life  of  the  body  is  derived  from  the  soul.  Without 
tlie  life-giving  power  of  the  soul,  the  body  is  dead. 
Death  is  in  fact  the  withdrawal  of  the  soul  from 
the  body.  This  theory  of  the  relation  of  soul  and 
body  is,  however,  not  original  with  Davies.  It  is 
taught  by  Nemesius.  He  says:  "All  confcsse 
there  is  a  Soul, ;  and  if  it  be  neither  a  Body^  nor 
an  accident,  it  is  manifest  that  it  is  a  substance 
without  a  body;  and  no  such  thing  as  cannot 
stand  by  it  sclfe  without  a  subject:  For  such 
things  may  without  the  destruction  of  the  subject 
be  cither  in  tlie  same,  or  absent;  but  if  the  SoUL 
be  separated  from  the  body,  that  body  must  of 
necessity  be  destroyed."  ^ 

But  this  doctrine  antedates  Nemesius.  It  is  a 
fundamental  point  in  Aristotle's  psychology  or 
rather  physiological  psychology.  He  says :  "  The 
soul  then  is  the  cause  and  basis  of  the  body  as 
alive ;  and  is  so  in  each  of  the  three  senses  in 
which  the  word  cause  is  used :  that  is  to  say  it  is 
so  both  as  the  efficient  cause  from  which  move- 
ment springs,  as  the  end  or  final  cause  and  as  the 
real  or  essential  substance  of  animate  bodies. 

1  Op.  cit.,  p.  183. 
7 


g8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

"  That  the  soul  is  so  as  essential  substance  is  evi- 
dent. In  the  case  of  all  objects,  the  cause  of  their 
existence  constitutes  their  essential  substance. 
Now  it  is  life  which  constitutes  the  existence  of 
all  animals,  and  of  these  processes  of  life  soul  is 
at  once  the  cause  and  origin;  and  further,  in  the 
case  of  something  which  exists  potentially,  it  is 
the  full  realization  which  is  the  notion  or  essential 
nature. 

"  It  is  equally  clear  that  soul  is  cause  in  the 
sense  of  end  or  final  cause.  Like  reason,  nature 
acts  for  the  sake  of  some  object;  and  this  object 
is  its  end.  Now  in  the  animal  world  the  soul  is 
naturally  something  of  this  character.  All  natural 
bodies  are  instruments  of  the  soul:  and  just  as  it 
is  with  the  bodies  of  animals  so  also  is  it  with 
those  of  plants,  all  being  there  simply  for  the  sake 
of  soul.  But  in  saying  that  tlic  soul  is  the  end  or 
final  cause,  we  must  remember  that  the  word  '  end  ' 
is  used  in  two  senses,  and  must  understand  it  as 
meaning  that  at  which  a  thing  aims  quite  as  much 
as  that  for  which  it  exists. 

"  Lastly,  the  soul  is  also  cause  as  being  the 
original  source  of  local  movement,  a  faculty  how- 
ever which  all  creatures  do  not  have.  The  soul 
also  exhibits  phenomena  of  alteration  and  augmen- 


Reality  of  the  Soul.  —  Materialism  gg 

tation :  for  sensation  is  held  to  be  a  form  of  alter- 
ation and  nothing  possesses  this  faculty  of  sense 
unless  it  participate  in  soul.  So  also  is  it  with 
augmentation  and  decay:  nothing  decays  or  grows 
in  a  natural  manner  except  it  receive  nutrition: 
and  nothing  is  nurtured  except  it  partake  of  life."* 

*  Op.  cit.,  13k.  II.  ch.  iv.  sees.  3-6. 


CHAPTER  VI 
NATURE   OF  THE   SOUL.  —  MATERIALISM 

T  TAVING   thus    endeavored    to   vindicate   the 
:        claims  of  the  soul  to  a  being  of  her  own, 
he   proceeds   to  explain   the  nature  of  the  soul. 
Here  again  he  crosses  swords  with  the  Materialist. 
He  affirms  the  soul  to  be  a  spirit  —  not,  however, 
like  the  air  or  wind,  nor  like  the  so-called  "  vital 
spirits,"   nor   like   the   spirits   spoken   of  by   the 
alchemists.      She    surpasses   "  all    natures   vnder 
hcaucn."     She  is  like  the  spirits  or  heavenly  in- 
telligences who  behold  the  face  of  God.     Yea,  she 
is  like  God  herself,  originally  bearing  his  image, 
but  having  degenerated  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
scarcely  now  constitute  his  shadow.     She  is  supe- 
rior to  all  "  formes  "  knit  to  bodies.     But  although 
joined  to  the  body,  she  is   "  bodilesse  and   free," 
and  though  confined,  she  is  almost  infinite.     She 
cannot  be  a  body,  for  if  so,  how  could  she  be  con- 
tained in  the  body  which  is  not  so  great  as  she  — 
how  could  she  contain  "  the  world's  great  shape  " 


Nature  of  the  Soul.  —  Materialism  loi 

—  how  could  she  reflect  or  mirror  the  world? 
Bodies  are  subject  to  space  relations  —  not  so 
with  the  soul.  Instead  of  being  confined  to  place, 
she  herself  contains  all  places.  It  is  impossible 
for  bodies  to  admit  two  forms  at  once  without  one 
defacing  the  other;  but  the  soul  can  admit  ten 
thousand  forms,  none  intruding  upon  its  neighbor's 
place.  All  bodies  are  filled  with  other  bodies. 
The  soul's  "wide  imbraccmcnts  "  cannot  be  filled, 
for  its  capacity  increases  by  acquisition.  Things 
take  the  proportions  of  things  receiving  them:  — 

"  So  little  glasses  little  faces  make, 
And  narrow  webs  on  narrow  frames  be  weau'd." 

But  not  so  with  the  soul.  If  she  were  a  body,  how 
vast  she  would  have  to  be  to  contain,  as  she  does, 
all  sorts  of  corporeal  objects,  as,  '*  men,  beasts, 
trees,  towns,  seas,  and  lands":  — 

"  And  yet  each  thing  a  proper  place  doth  find, 
And  each  thing  in  the  true  proportion  stands." 

This  were  impossible  to  the  mind  were  it  not  for 
the  fact  that  by  some  strange  sublimation  she 
converts  bodies  into  spirits.  She  abstracts  the 
forms  from  material  bodies  —  she  draws  a  sort  of 
"  qidntcsscnce  from  things,"  which  she  transforms 
into   her  own  nature.      This   is   manifest   in   her 


J02  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

abstraction  of  universals  from  particular  objects  — 
.  which  universals  are  bodiless  and  immaterial  in 
their  character  and  find  a  lodgment  only  in  minds. 
Again,  were  the  mind  a  body  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  her  to  know  several  bodies,  just  as  it  is 
impossible  for  a  mirror  not  free  from  all  forms  to 
reflect  several  faces.  Our  eyes  could  not  discern 
all  colors  if  they  were  not  themselves  void  of 
colors.  Again,  the  quick  movements  of  the  mind 
show  her  to  be  a  spirit.  She  travels  immense 
distances  in  a  moment  of  time.  It  is  impossible 
for  a  body  to  do  so.  The  conclusion  is,  that 
the  soul  is  not  a  corporeal  or  bodily  thing,  but 
rather  an  incorporeal,  immaterial  thing  —  a  spiritual 
agent: — 

"  As  then  the  Sou/e  a  substance  hath  alone, 
Besides  the  Body  in  which  she  is  confin'd; 
So  hath  she  not  a  doi(y  of  her  owne, 
But  is  a  spirit^  and  immateriall  minded 


In  the  preceding  consideration  of  Materialism 
Davies  gives  no  exposition  of  the  doctrine.  He 
merely  refutes  the  notion  of  regarding  the  soul 
as  a  bodily  thing.  He  may  have  in  mind  either 
the  views  of  Democritus,  the  Stoics,  the  Epi- 
cureans, or  Lucretius;    or,    indeed,   the  views  of 


Niiture  of  the  Soul.  —  Materialism  loj 

all  of  these  philosophers;  for  all  of  them  affirm 
the  soul  to  be  corporeal  in  its  nature.  Nemesius, 
in  refuting  this  theory,  refers  to  all  of  the  above 
mentioned  thinkers,  except  Lucretius.*  Davies 
in  dealing  with  Materialism  makes  use  of  two 
argimients  used  by  Nemesius,  in  discussing  the 
relation  of  soul  and  body,  namely,  (i)  That  body 
is  confined  to  place,  whereas  the  soul  is  not. 
(2)  That  body  has  dimensions,  but  the  soul  has 
none.  Nemesius  says :  "  For,  as  the  Suft,  so  soon 
as  it  appeareth,  changes  the  ajfre  into  light;  so 
making  it  lightsome,  and  so  diffusing  it  selfe  with  1 
the  ayn\  that  it  is  united  with  the  same,  and  yet 
not  confounded  therewith :  Even  so,  the  soul  be- 
ing united  with  the  Body,  remaines  without  con- 
fusion therewith;  differing  in  this  onely,  that  thei 
Sunne  being  a  Body,  and  circumscribed  within! 
the  compasse  of  Place,  is  not  himselfe  in  every  '" 
place  where  his  light  is,  but  (asyfr^  in  the  woody 
or  as  the  flame  in  a  candle)  is  confined  to  a  cer 
taine  place. 

"  It  is  not  so  with  the  soi/l.  For,  being  void 
of  all  Body,  and  not  contained  within  the  limits 
of  any  place,  it  passeth  all  and  whole,  througl| 
its  own  whole  light,  and  through  the  whole  Body\ 


It  is 
as  it 
to  be 
saidt 
Til 
topla 


1  Op.  cit.,  pp.  77-113. 


m 


104  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

wherein  it  is ;  neither  is  any  part  of  it  illuminated 
thereby,  wherein  it  is  not  fully  and  wholly  present. 
Neither  is  it  in  the  body  as  in  some  bottle  or  other 
vessell,  nor  compassed  in  by  the  same ;  but  the 
Body  is  rather  in  the  soule,  and  is  thereby  held  in 
and  fastned  together. 

"  For,  intelligible  things  (such  as  the  soul  is) 
are  not  hindred  by  bodily  things;  but,  enter, 
and  pierce,  and  pass  through  every  corporeall 
thing,  and  cannot  possibly  bee  contained  within 
the  circumference  of  a  bodily-place.  Things  in- 
tcllcctuall,  have  their  being  in  places  also  intelli- 
p-ible;  yea  they  are  either  in  themselves,  or  else  in 
such  intellcctuall  things,  as  are  above  themselves. 

"  The  soul  is  otherwhile  in  it  sclfe;  as,  when  it 
reasonetJi  or  considereth  of  things;  and  otherwhile 
in  the  undcrstajtding ;  as,  when  it  conceiveth  any 
thing:  And  when  it  is  said  to  bee  in  the  body, 
it  is  not  said  to  be  there,  as  in  place ;  but,  to  be 
as  it  were  in  a  certaine  relation  to  the  body;  and 
to  bee  present  with  it  Jn  such  a  sense,  as,  God  is 
said  to  be  in  us!' ' 

Thus  far  Ncmesius  shows  that  body  is  confined 
to   place ;    but   not   so  with   the   soul.      And    he 
further  points  out  that  body  has  dimensions,  but 
*  Op.  cit.,  pp.  197-200. 


Nature  of  the  Soul.  —  Materialism  lo^ 

the  soul  has  not:  "For,"  he  continues,  "wee  say 
that  the  soul  is  bound  (as  it  were)  by  a  certaine 
disposition  and  inchnation,  as  the  lover  is  to  his 
beloved:  not  bound  in  place,  or  as  bodies  are 
bound ;  but  by  the  habituall  bands  of  affection. 
And  indeed,  seeing  it  hath  neither  magnitude^ 
nor  tnassinesse,  nor  parts,  how  can  it  be  enclosed 
by  a  speciall  place  f  Or  within  what  place  can 
that  bee  contained,  which  hath  no  parts?  Where 
place  is,  there  must  needs  bee  a  tnassinesse ;  be- 
cause place  is  the  Bound  which  compasscth 
another  thing;  and  hath  its  being  in  respect  of 
that  which  it  encloseth." ' 

Davies  argues  similarly,  but  more  briefly :  — 

•'  All  bodies  are  confin'd  within  some  place, 
But  she  all  place  within  her  selfe  confines  ; 
All  bodies  haue  their  measure,  and  their  space, 
But  who  can  draw  the  Soule^s  dimensiue  lines?" 

It  would  seem,  especially  in  view  of  what  will 
appear  later,  that  here  again  Davies  had  recourse 

to  Nemesius. 

The   last  argument  against  regarding  the  soul 

Cfuds 
as  body,  which   Davies  makes  use  of,  based  on  i; , 

(  "1E« 

the  swiftness    of  the  soul's  movements,  may  be  i 
found  also  in  Calvin.     The  theologian,  in  endeav^ 


1  Op.  cit.,  pp.  200- 301. 


i  tii^:. 


io6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

oring  to  show  that  the  soul  cannot  be  identified 
with  body,  says:  "But  the  swiftness  with  which 
the  human  mind  glances  from  heaven  to  earth, 
scans  the  secrets  of  nature,  and,  after  it  has  em- 
braced all  ages,  with  intellect  and  memory  digests 
each  in  its  proper  order,  and  reads  the  future  in 
the  past,  clearly  demonstrates  that  there  lurks  in 
man  a  something  separated  from  the  body."  ' 
Davics  says :  — 

"  If  lastly,  this  quicke  power  a  body  were, 
Were  it  as  swift  as  is  tlie  winde  ox  fire ; 
(Whose  atomies  doe  th'one  down  side-waies  bcare, 
And  make  the  other  m  pyramids  aspire  :) 

"  Her  nimble  body  yet  in  time  must  moue. 

And  not  in  instants  through  all  places  slide  ; 
But  she  is  nigh,  and  farre,  beneath,  aboue, 
In  point  of  time,  which  thought  cannot  deuide: 

♦'  She  is  sent  as  soone  to  China  as  to  Spaine, 
And  thence  rcturnes,  as  soone  as  shee  is  sent; 
She  measures  with  on«  time,  and  with  one  paine, 
An  ell  of  silke,  and  heauen's  wide  spreading  tent." 

Davics's  refutation  of  Materialism  is,  of  course, 
crude.  But  we  must  remember  that  he  was  deal- 
ing with  a  crude  Materialism.  It  was  not  such 
a  doctrine  as  we  meet  with  in  nineteenth  and 
twentieth  century  scientific  Materialism.  It  was 
*  Op.  cit.,  lik.  I.  ch.  XV.  sec.  2. 


Nature  of  the  Soul.  —  Materialism    -     loy 

not  a  theory  formed  in  the  light  of  the  doctrines 
of  tlie  conservation  of  energy,  and  biological  evo- 
lution, or  in  the  light  of  modern  brain  physiology. 
Davies  took  Materialism  as  he  found  it,  and  met 
its  disciples  on  their  own  ground,  —  how  success- 
fully the  reader  may  judge  for  himself.  But  in 
taking  his  stand  on  the  side  of  a  spiritualistic 
philosophy  —  in  affirming  t'le  reality  of  mind  as 
distinguished  from  matter,  he  has  identified  him- 
self with  the  main  current  of  speculative  thought. 
In  carefully  reviewing  the  history  of  philosophy 
one  cannot  fail  to  be  impressed  with  the  poverty 
of  Materialism.  As  compared  with  a  spiritualistic 
philosophy  —  either  in  the  form  of  Dualism  or  |l 
Idealism  —  it  plays  an  inferior  part  in  the  history 
of  speculative  thought.  It  is  true  it  had  a  flourish- 
ing career  in  Greek  and  Grajco-Roman  thought. 
lUit  as  one  compares  pre-Socratic  materialistic 
philosophy  with  the  Socratic,  Platonic,  and  Aris- 
totelian philosophy,  in  which  the  spiritual  nature 
of  mind  is  recognized,  he  will  be  impressed  with 
the  poverty  of  the  former  and  the  richness  of  the 
latter.  Likewise,  if  he  makes  a  comparison  be- 
tween the  Stoic  and  Epicurean  Materialism  and 
the  philosophy  of  Socrates,  Plato,  and  Aristotle  a 
similar  impression  prevails.    Ancient  Materialism  is 


lo8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

'  not  rich  in  great  names  or  great  systems.  Again; 
for  fifteen  centuries  of  the  Christian  era  Materi- 
alism had  scarcely  a  representative  of  note.^  In- 
deed, from  Epicurus  and  Lucretius  to  Descartes 
—  the  founder  of  modern  philosophy — it  hardly 
receives  mention  by  historians  of  philosophy. 
Whereas,  much  of  early  Christian  philosophy, 
and  Scholastic  philosophy  also,  were,  of  course, 
spiritualistic  in  character.  The  case  is  essentially 
the  same  in  Modern  as  in  Ancient  Philosophy. 
From  Descartes  through  Spinoza,  Malebranche, 
Gculincx,  Leibnitz,  and  Wolff,  to  Kant,  on  the 
Continent;  and  from  Locke,  through  Berkeley, 
and  Hume  (Idealistic  Sensationalism),  to  Reid, 
in  Great  Britain,  philosophy  has  either  been  dual- 
islic  or  idealistic  —  affirming  in  either  case  the 
reality  of  mind.  During  this  period.  Materialism 
was  represented  by  Gassendi,  Hobbcs,  Toland, 
Tricstlcy,  the  Encyclopaedists  (?),  La  Mettrie,  and 
d'Holbach.  To  the  student  of  the  history  of  phi- 
losojjhy  the  two  movements  of  thought  hardly 
admit  of  comparison  so  far  as  their  significance 
is  concerned.     The    former  is   the    great   stream 

*  There  was  more  or  less  Materialism  in  early  Christian  s|)ecu- 
lativc  thought.  This  was  doubtless  due  to  a  considerable  extent 
to  the  influence  of  the  Stoics. 


Nature  of  the  Soul.  —  Materialism  tog 

of  modern  speculative  thought  flowing  in  this 
period ;  the  latter  is  a  small  current  flowing  along- 
side or  through  it.  And,  if  anything,  the  contrast 
is  more  marked  in  the  history  of  philosophical 
thought  from  Kant  to  the  present  day.  The 
dominant  character  of  philosophy  since  Kant  has 
been  idealistic.  The  great  systems  of  Fichte, 
Schelling,  Hegel,  Schopenhauer,  Von  Hartmann, 
and  Lotze,  testify  to  this  fact.  They  pre-eminently 
constitute  the  main  current  of  Modern  Philosophy. 
Dualism  also  during  this  period,  as  manifest  in  the 
development  of  Scottish  philosophy  from  Reid 
to  Hamilton,  constitutes  no  insignificant  current. 
True,  this  period  witnessed  the  birth  of  a  more 
"  scientific "  Materialism  than  that  of  preceding 
thought.  The  rapid  development  of  the  natural 
sciences,  the  wide  acceptance  of  the  theories  of 
evolution,  and  of  the  correlation  of  forces,  the 
mechanical  explanation  of  phenomena,  and  the 
progress  in  nerve  and  brain  physiology  —  all  of 
these  things  gave  rise  to  a  materialistic  view  of 
the  world  and  the  soul.  The  more  speculative 
representatives  of  this  movement  in  Germany 
were  Moleschott,  Vogt,  Biichner,  Haeckel,  and 
others.  In  France  it  has  had  comparatively  few 
representatives  of  note.     Probably  Cabanis  may 


no  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

be  called  its  most  distinguished  exponent  there. 
And    it    may   be    questioned    whether    he    really 
teaches    a    philosophical    Materialism.     In    Great 
Britain  Materialism  is  taught  more  by  implication 
than   as  a  scientific  or  philosophical  dogma.     It 
is   certainly   an   implication   of  the   teachings   of 
Spencer  and    Huxley,  and    possibly   of  Tyndall. 
Professor  Flint  accurately  states  the  case  as  fol- 
lows :  "  In  England,  Mr.  Herbert    Spencer,  Pro- 
fessors   Huxley    and    Tyndall,  and    a    few    other 
writers  of  distinguished  philosophical  or  scientific 
talents,  have  done  far  more  to  diffuse  materialism 
than  any  of  those  who  are  willing  to  avow  them- 
selves materialists.     Never  was  materialism  more 
fortunate  than  when  it  secured  to  itself  the  sym- 
pathy and  support  of  minds  so  vigorous  and   so 
richly  gifted."  ' 

This,  briefly,  and  in  a  general  way,  has  been  the 
history  of  Materialism  as  compared  with  Dualism 
and  Idealism.  Its  comparative  poverty  of  history 
is  due  to  the  inherent  poverty  of  its  cause.  The 
utter  inability  thus  far  of  even  a  so-called  "  scien- 
tific "  Materialism  to  explain  conscious  life  on  the 
basis  of  the  molecular  activity  of  the  brain;  the 

1  "Anti-Thcistic  Theories."  Edinburgh  and  London,  1877, 
Appendix,  Note  xv. 


Nature  of  the  Soul.  —  Materialism         iii 

utter  unlikencss  of  neural  and  psychic  activity 
when  subjected  to  the  closest  and  most  thorough 
examination,  make,  in  the  writer's  judgment,  the 
words  of  Du  Bois-Reymond  eminently  true :  "  I 
will  now  prove  conclusively,  as  I  believe,  that  not 
only  is  consciousness  unexplained  by  material  con- 
ditions in  the  present  state  of  our  science  (which  all 
will  admit),  but  that,  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  it 
never  can  be  explained  by  these  conditions.  The 
most  exalted  mental  activity  is  no  more  incompre- 
hensible in  its  material  conditions  than  is  the  first 
grade  of  consciousness  —  namely,  sensation.  With 
the  first  awakening  of  pleasure  and  pain  experi- 
enced upon  earth  by  some  creature  of  the  simplest 
structure  appeared  an  impassable  gulf,  and  the 
world  became  doubly  incomprehensible."  ^ 

We  have  seen,  then,  that  Davics  in  affirming  the 
essential  reality  of  the  psychic  in  opposition  to 
Materialism  is  in  the  current  of  the  world's  pre 
foundest  thought.  But  in  his  efforts  to  vindicate 
the  essential  selfhood  or  being  of  the  soul,  he  failed 
to  deal  with  a  more  formidable  opposition  than 
Materialism,  namely,  Pantheistic  Idealism ;  or, 
better.  Idealistic  Pantheism.     Such  Pantheism  is  a 

1  "  Ueber    die   Grenzen    des    Naturerkennens,"    pp.  20,   21. 
Quoted  from  Flint,  op.  cit.,  Appendix,  Note  xviii. 


tt2  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

thorough-going  Monism  —  affirming  mind  to  be 
the  only  reality,  but  cancelling  the  reality  of  the 
finite  mind  —  it  being  merely  a  mode  of  the  Abso- 
lute, or  the  Absolute  coming  to  consciousness. 
At  best,  then,  the  finite  mind  has  merely  a  phe- 
nomenal existence.  It  has  no  being-for-self — no 
real  selfhood.  Of  such  a  theory  Davics  hardly 
seems  conscious.  At  least  he  does  not  consider 
it.  And  yet,  in  a  philosophy  of  mind,  it  is  not 
sufficient  to  prove  the  reality  of  the  spiritual  or 
psychic  as  against  the  claims  of  Materialism ;  but 
also,  if  possible,  to  vindicate  the  right  of  the 
human  soul  to  a  being  of  its  own,  in  opposition 
to  the  claims  of  Idealistic  Pantheism.  The  latter 
undertaking  is  a  much  more  difficult  task  than  the 
former. 

Davies's  conception  of  the  essential  reality  and 
individuality  of  the  soul  is  more  in  harmony  with 
Christian  theology  than  with  Greek  Philosophy. 
In  this  respect  he  was  probably  influenced  more 
by  Nemesius  and  Calvin  and  his  general  Christian 
teaching  than  by  Greek  thought.  For  in  Greek 
Philosophy  the  distinction  between  the  human  soul 
and  the  Divine  Intelligence,  and  the  World-Soul, 
is  nowhere  as  sharply  drawn  as  it  is  in  Davies's 
philosophy,  especially  as  involved  in  his  doctrine 


Nature  of  the  Soul.  —  Materialism  1 1) 

of  creation,  which  he  presents  later.  Nor  is  the 
distinction  between  soul  and  body  as  sharply  de- 
fined by  Aristotle,  to  whom  our  poet  was  so  much 
indebted,  as  in  Davies's  thought.  Such  views  as 
he  expresses  on  this  subject  represent  in  the  main 
the  prevailing  thought  of  Christian  Theology  from 
Augustine  to  the  present  day  (with  some  notable 
exceptions).  Since  Augustine,  Christian  Theol- 
ogy in  its  ontology  has  not,  as  a  rule,  been  monis- 
tic. It  has  usually  taught  the  existence  of  three 
distinct  realities,  —  God,  the  created  material  world 
(including  the  animal  and  human  organism),  and 
the  created  human  soul.  This  is  undoubtedly  the 
view  that  underlies  Davies's  philosophy. 

If  we  turn  to  Modern  Philosophy,  we  find  that, 
in  the  prc-Kantian  period,  the  essential  being  or 
individuality  of  the  soul  is  affirmed  by  Descartes,^ 
Malebranche,^  Leibnitz,^  Wolff,*  Locke,''  Berkeley,^ 
Reid,"  and  other  philosophers  of  less  distinction. 
Kant  himself,  in  the  Critique  of  Pure  Reason  (in 

*  "  Second  Meditation." 

2  "  I)e  la  Recherche  de  la  Verite,"  Liv.  III.  ii.  1-3. 
'  "  Monaclology."     See  also  "  Letter  to  Wagner  on  the  Active 
Force  of  Body,  on  the  Soul,"  etc. 

*  "Latin  Works:  Psychologia  rationalis." 

'  "Essay  on  Human  Understanding,"  Hk.  IL,  ch.  xxvii. 

'  "  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge." 

'  "  Essays  on  the  Intellectual  Powers  of  Man,"  Essay  I.  ch.  iv. 


ti4  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

the  Transcendental  Dialectic  especially),  regards 
the  soul  as  a  noumenon  —  a  transcendental  reality 
—  a  reality  unknown  to  the  pure  reason.  But  in 
the  Critique  of  Practical  Reason  he  makes  the  soul 
and  its  immortality  a  reality  known  through  the 
practical  reason  or  moral  consciousness.  From 
Kant  to  Von  Ilartmann  German  philosophy  is 
mainly  Idealistic  Pantheism.  In  the  philosophy 
of  Fichte,  and  also  of  Ilcgel,  Schopenhauer,  and 
Von  Hartmann,  the  human  soul  is  in  some  way 
or  other  identified  with  the  Absolute.'  It  is  not 
regarded  as  having  a  real,  distinct  being  of  its 
own.  Since  Kant,  Lotze  is  probably  the  most 
distinguished  German  philosopher  who  has  main- 
tained the  self-being  of  the  finite  soul.^ 

The  above  briefly  indicates  the  attitude  of  the 
more  important  philosophical  and  theological 
thought  towards  the  position  which  Davies  so 
positively  affirmed;  namely,  the  spiritual  self- 
being  of  the  human  soul. 

»  Cf.  Windelband,  "  A  History  of  Philosophy,"  trans,  by  J.  H. 
Tufts,  2d  ed.,  Chicago,  1900,  Pt.  VI.  ch.  ii.,  for  a  brief  account  of 
the  development  of  German  Idealism. 

2  Sec  especially  his  "  Mikrokosmus,"  II  Buch,  c.  i,  2. 


CHAPTER   VII 

ORIGIN   OF  THE  SOUL  IN  CONNECTION  WITH 
THE  BODY 

T?ROM  the  discussion  of  the  reality  and  nature 
■*•  of  the  soul,  the  poet  turns  to  the  considera- 
tion of  that  difficult  and  much  mooted  question 
(especially  in  theological  circles)  of  the  mode  of 
the  soul's  origin.  How  does  the  soul  come  into 
being?  Assuming,  as  Davies  does,  that  it  has  its 
ultimate  origin  in  God,  the  real  question  with  him 
is,  the  origin  of  the  soul  in  its  connection  with  the 
body.  He  considers  three  theories  of  the  origin 
of  the  soul  —  Pre-existence,  Creationism,  and 
Traducianism.  The  Church  Father,  Origen,  in  his 
commentary  on  Canticles,  has  given  a  very  clear 
statement  of  the  nature  of  these  theories.  He 
says:  "  The  question  is,  first,  whether  the  human 
spirit  is  created,  or  has  existed  from  the  beginning 
(prc-existcnce)  ;  next,  if  created,  whether  it  was 
created  once  for  all,  and  connected  in  such  a  way 
with  the  body  as  to  be  propagated,  along  with  it, 


ii6  Philosophy  in  Poetry   . 

by  natural  generation  (traducianism),  or  whether 
it  is  created  successively,  and,  in  each  individual 
case,  added  from  without,  in  order  to  vivify  the 
body  forming  in  the  womb  (creationism)."  ^ 

Of  these  three  theories,  Davies  accepts  Crea- 
tionism, with  a  slight  modification  of  the  form 
presented  by  Origcn.  In  taking  this  position,  he 
at  first  merely  states  the  theory  and  his  acceptance 
of  it,  witliout  an  argument  to  substantiate  his 
views.  The  reasons  for  its  acceptance  are  pre- 
sented later.  He  states  his  own  position  as 
follows :  — 

"  Since  body  and  soule  haue  such  diuersities, 

Well  might  we  muse,  how  first  their  match  began, 
But  that  we  learne,  that  He  that  spread  tlie  skies, 
And  fixt  the  Earth,  first  form'd  the  soule  in  man. 

"  This  true  Prometheus  first  made  Man  of  earth. 
And  shed  in  him  a  beame  of  heauenly  fire  ; 
Now  in  their  mother's  wombs  before  their  birth, 
Doth  in  all  sonnes  of  men  their  soules  inspire. 

♦'  And  as  Minerua  is  in  fables  said, 

From  loue,  without  a  mother  to  proceed  ; 
So  our  true  loue,  without  a  mother's  ay'd, 
Doth  daily  millions  of  Mineruas  breed." 

In  other  words,  every  individual  soul  is  an  abso- 
lute, immediate  creation  on  the  part  of  God;  and 

1  Schaff-Herzog   Religious  Encyclopxdia,  etc.     New   York, 
1882,  Vol.  I.  pp.  569-570. 


Origin  of  the  Soul  iiy 

is  breathed  into  the  body  with  which  it  is  to  be 
associated  while  yet  in  the  mother's  womb.  Vio- 
lent as  this  hypothesis  is,  it  seems  much  more 
acceptable  to  him  than  either  of  the  opposing 
theories. 

With  this  statement  of  his  position,  he  first  con- 
siders the  doctrine  of  Pre-cxistence.  He  argues, 
that  God  did  not  create  all  souls  at  once,  either 
"  from  eternitie  before,"  or  "  from  the  time  when 
Times  first  point  begun,"  which  he  keeps  in  some 
other  sphere,  or  housed  in  some  secret  cloister, 
until  the  day  of  their  marriage  with  the  body. 
Neither  is  that  form  of  the  theory  which  involves 
the  transmigration  of  souls,  or  metempsychosis, 
true.  God  did  not  first  create  a  number  of 
souls,  — 

*'  Infusing  part  in  beasts^  and  part  in  men^'' 

and  so  ordain  that  at  the  death  of  the  body  the 
soul  should  be  married  to  another  body,  — 

"  And  so  by  often  changing  and  supplying, 
Men's  soules  to  beasts,  and  beasts  to  men  did  passe." 

This  theory  must  be  repudiated.  Were  it  true, 
thousands  of  bodies  "  must  be  abortiue,  and  for- 
lornc,"  before  they  receive  souls  through  the  death 
of  other  bodies,  because  the  number  of  bodies 
born  exceeds  by  far  the  number  of  bodies  that  die. 


!i8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Over  against  this  theory  of  Pre-existence  and 
metempsychosis,  Davies  sets  his  own  theory  of 
Crcationism.  Just  as  Nature,  God's  handmaid, 
creates  bodies  in  distinct  time,  and  in  due  order, — 

"  So  God  giues  soules  the  like  successiue  date, 
Which  Himselfe  makes,  in  bodies  formed  new." 

He  strongly  emphasizes  the  supposed  fact  that 
God  himself  creates  the  soul,  and  does  so  directly 
—  not  through  secondary  causes.  He  does  not 
delegate  this  power  either  to  angels  or  to  Nature. 
Especially  does  he  call  attention  to  the  fact  that 
Nature's  services  are  not  utilized  in  bringing  the 
soul  into  being.  For,  although  she  can  derive 
bodies  from  bodies,  she  could  never  derive  souls 
from  souls.     This  would  be  an  impossibility. 

After  thus  again  affirming  the  Creationist's  view, 
he  takes  into  consideration  the  objection  urged 
against  this  theory  by  Traducianism.  There  were 
those  —  revered  Church  Fathers  —  "great  lights 
of  old  "  —  whose  eyes  were  dimmed  with  religious 
fear,  who  opposed  the  doctrine  of  Crcationism, 
substituting  for  it  the  doctrine  of  Traducianism. 
The  religious  fear  which  constituted  the  ground  of 
their  objection,  arose  from  the  supposed  bearing 
ofthisviewon  the  doctrine  of  original  sin.  The 
poet  interprets  this  objection  as  follows :  — 


Origin  of  the  Soul  119 

We  are  taught  by  Rule  of  Faith  that  every  soul 

united  to  a  human  body  is  born  in  sin  —  bringing 

the  "  sinnc  of  kind  "  from  the  mother's  womb.     To 

affirm  that  God  creates  the  soul  directly,  and  not 

through  secondary  causes,  is  to  make  him  author 

of  the  soul's  sin,  for  sin  began  in  the  soul  of  man. 

If  the  soul  of  man  is  by  nature  corrupt,  as  the 

dogma  of  original  sin  affirms,  and  if  we  hold  that 

it  is  an  immediate  creation  of  God,  then  we  affirm 

either   that    God    first   creates    it   corrupt,   which 

seems  sacrilegious,  or  that  the  body  corrupts  it 

But  the  body,  of  itself,  has  no  such  power.     It  was 

the  soul,  and  not  the  body,  of  Adam  that  sinned, 

and  thus  brought  corruption  to  itself.     And  the 

soul  born    to-day  suffi^rs   the  consequences.      It 

participated   in  Adam's  sin.     It  comes  into  being 

corrupt — it  is  corrupt    before  it    sins  in  act  or 

thought.     This  being  so,  God  can  only  be  relieved 

of  the  responsibility  for  man's  original  sin  —  for 

man's  natural    corruption,  on  the  supposition   or 

ground  that  every  human  soul  is  a  derivation  from 

the  parent  soul  through  propagation.     And  this  is 

what  Traducianism  affirms.     It  affirms,  also,  that 

Creationism,  on  the  other  hand,  logically  implies 

responsibility  on  the  part  of  God  for  original  sin; 

that  is,  for  the  supposed  fact  that  every  man  is 

born  in  sin. 


120  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

This  is  the  objection  of  Traducianism.  Davies 
now  argues  for  Creationism,  giving  reasons  for 
belief  in  this  doctrine,  and  endeavoring  to  meet 
the  objection  of  Traducianism  with  reference  to 
the  bearing  of  the  doctrine  of  original  sin  on  it. 

No  one,  he  says,  is  so  gross  as  to  contend,  that 
the  soul  is  derived  from  the  body.  But  many 
subtle  minds  have  contended  that  souls  spring 
from  other  souls.  This  view,  however,  is  erro- 
neous. There  are  reasons  which  evidence  this. 
These  reasons  the  poet  sets  forth  as  follows :  — 

All  created  things  arc  either  created  from  noth- 
ing, or  from  ready-made  stuff".  No  creature  ever 
formed  aught  from  nothing.  Such  power  belongs 
alone  to  God.  If  then  a  soul  beget  a  soul,  it  must 
beget  it  from  stuff"  or  matter.  But  the  soul  con- 
tains no  such  matter.  If  the  soul  be  not  created 
from  matter,  it  must  be  created  from  nothing. 
But,  as  has  been  stated,  God  alone  possesses  such 
power.  Hence,  one  finite  soul  cannot  create 
another. 

Again,  if  souls  possess  the  power  of  begetting 
souls,  then  they  must  do  so  either  by  an  exercise 
of  their  own  power  or  by  an  exercise  of  the  power 
of  the  body.  If  by  their  own  power,  what  should 
hinder  them   creating   souls   every  hour?     If  by 


Origin  of  the  Soul  121 

tiie  body's  power,  why  can  reason  and  will  unite 
with  the  body  only  in  this  one  specific  act,  since 
they  *'  abstract "  themselves  from  the  body  in  the 
performance  of  other  offices  or  functionings? 

Again,  such  a  view  makes  against  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul,  for  it  predicates  change  and 
motion  of  the  soul,  and  change  and  motion  bear 
the  marks  of  corruption,  that  is,  of  destructibility. 
Again,  if  souls  beget  other  souls,  then  the 
seed  they  sow  should  be  incorruptible,  that  is, 
indestructible.^  What  then  becomes  of  seed 
sown  in  acts  of  generation  from  which  there  is 
no  issue? 

Furthermore,  only  mortal  things  desire  to  beget 
other  beings  so  as  to  immortalize  their  kind  or 
perpetuate  their  species.  Souls  being  immortal, 
would,  therefore,  even  though  possessed  of  the 
power  of  begetting  other  souls,  not  exercise  it, 
because  as  immortal  they  would  not  be  impelled 
by  a  desire  to  immortalize  their  kind.  Hence, 
angels,  who  are  immortal,  do  not  marry.  The 
conclusion  is,  that  God,  and  not  man,  is  the 
creator  of  spirits. 

But  what  of  the  objection  of  the  Traducianist? 
Davics  considers  the  objection  at  length,  and  en- 
1  Davies  here  assumes  the  natural  immortality  of  the  soul. 


122  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

deavors  to  reconcile  Creationism  with  the  dogma 
of  original  sin.     God,  he  argues,  created  the  soul 
pure   and   joined    it   to  the    body.     However,  its 
union  with  the   body  does  not   corrupt   it.     Still 
it  is  corrupt  —  even  in  the   mother's  womb.      It 
is  corrupt   even   before  It   can  judge  or  choose. 
But   God    is    not   the   author  of  this   corruption. 
From   all   eternity   He   decreed   all   things.      He 
decreed  that  every  man  should  be  and  live  his 
life.     He  decreed  all  human  souls  to  be,  and  to  be 
incarnate.     This  eternal    plan  or  decree  was  not 
to  be  set   aside    by  the  prospect  or  certainty  of 
sin.     If  we  knew  God's  purpose  in  creation  this 
discordant  element  of  man's  sin  might  be  seen  to 
make   for   rather   than   against   harmony.     If  we 
could  see  how  death  is  the  result  of  sin,  but  also 
"  how  from  death,  a  better  life  doth  rise " ;  and 
how  this  teaches  the  justice  and  mercy  of  God, 
we  should  praise  his  decree  "  as  right  and  wise." 
But  the  trouble  is,  that  we  must  see  part  by  part, 
instead  of  having  an  intuition  of  the  whole.     We 
must   see    things    successively   instead    of   simul- 
taneously.    God,  however,  sees  things  differently. 
His  sight  is  not  of  things  in  part,  or  in  succession, 
or  in  degrees.     With  Him  all  things  and  all  events 
are  an  immediate  vision.      It   is   the  whole   that 


Origin  of  the  Soul  /  2) 

stands  immediately  before  His  gaze.  He  sees 
'' all  men  as  one  Man."  He  sees  them  as  a  tree 
of  which  Adam  is  the  root  and  his  heirs  the 
branches.  If  the  root  be  corrupted,  the  branches 
will  partake  of  the  corruption.  Or,  He  sees  all 
men  as  a  river,  of  which  Adam  is  the  well  or 
fountain-head,  and  his  posterity  the  streams.  Pol- 
lute the  fountain-head,  and  the  streams  partake 
of  the  pollution.  This  is  really  the  kind  of  head- 
ship there  is  in  Adam.  This  is  the  manner  in 
which  his  sin  extends  to  us.  It  is  not  personal 
sin.  It  is  "  sinne  of  kind,"  for  we  are  partakers 
of  his  nature.  It  is  hereditary  sin.  And  it  is 
because  our  natures  are  "  parts "  of  his  nature, 
that  the  guilt  and  punishment  of  his  sin  pass  to 
us  "  by  course  of  Nature,  and  of  Law."  By 
course  not  only  of  Nature,  but  also  of  Law,  for 
Law  makes  no  distinction  between  whole  and 
part:  — 

"  So  was  the  first  transgression  generall, 
And  all  did  plucke  the  fruit  and  all  did  tast." 

VVc  have  a  reflection  of  this  Divine  Law  in  human 
law,  where  thousands  of  men  are  regarded  as  one 
man — all  bound  together  in  "one  Corporation." 
These  thousands  and  their  successors  constitute 
but  one,  and,  as  the  former  gain  or  lose,  they  not 


124  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

only  harm  or  profit  themselves,  but  also  the  latter. 
In  other  words,  human  law  visits  the  punishment 
and  rewards  of  parents  upon  their  children  and 
their  children's  children  —  treating  all  as  one. 
Yet  we  call  not  this  unjust  on  the  part  of  man. 
Shall  we  then  accuse  God  because  of  His  decree 
whereby  the  descendants  of  Adam  partake  of  the 
guilt  and  penalty  of  his  sin? 

And  now  what  really  constitutes  this  original  sin 
or  "  sinne  of  kind  "?  It  is  the  deprivation  of  the 
soul  of  the  native  virtues  and  powers  which  God 
gave  to  Adam  and  his  race.  These  constituted 
iGod's  grace  to  man.  The  withdrawal  of  this  grace 
jresults  in  a  "  decliniug  pronencsse  unto  nought y 
Furthermore,  being  thus  deprived  of  her  native 
virtues,  vices  spring  up  to  take  their  places. 

But  by  what  means  are  Adam's  descendants 
thus  deprived  of  these  native  virtues  and  made 
subject  to  these  vices,  if  God  himself  immedi- 
ately creates  each  soul  ?  '  The  poet  answers,  that 
God  creates  each  soul  fair  and  good,  but  when  it 
unites  with  the  body,  which  union  constitutes  the 
man,  who  is  Adam's  heir,  then  God  withdraws  his 
grace  from  it.  It  thus  loses  its  "  rich  dowry " 
of  native  virtues,  and  vices  grow  up  in  their 
stead.     And  this  is  not  unjust  on  the  part  of  God. 


Origin  of  the  Soul  j2^ 

For,  if  a  man  receive  "on  light  conditions "  a 
large  estate  for  himself  and  heirs,  who  bemoans 
the  heirs,  or  blames  the  giver,  if  the  man  wil- 
fully forfeits  it? 

Nor  is  this  inheritance  of  sin  a  strange  thing  in 
the  light  of  God's  redemptive  action  in  Christ, 
whose  justice  and  grace  are  imparted  to  those 
who  are  unjust  and  without  grace. 

And,  lastly,  it  were  better  for  the  soul  to  be 
born  a  slave  to  sin,  rather  than  not  exist  at  all. 
Since,  by  faith  she  may  be  set  free,  and  "  mount 
the  higher  for  her  fall." 

Still  it  may  be  asked,  if  God  foresaw  men's  fall, 

why  did  he  not  prevent  it?     The  answer  is,  that 

this  were  to  cancel  man's  personality.     In  other 

words,  it  were  to  declare  that  "  Jllan  no  matt  shall 

bee!'     For  free  will  or  self-determination  is  of  the 

very  essence  of  personality:  — 

"  For  what  is  Man  without  a  moouing  mind, 

Which  hath  a  iudging  wit,  and  chusing  will  f  " 

God  made  man  to  know  and  love  his  Maker.  But 
a  forced,  involuntary  love  could  never  be  grateful 
or  thankworthy.  Furthermore,  if  we  were  pos- 
sessed of  unchangeable  will  and  unerring  wit,  we 
should  be  guilty  of  self-esteem.  Again,  if  man 
were  unchangeable,  he  must  either  be  God,  "  or 


1 

I 


136  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

like  a  root  or  tree,"  for  even  the  angels  are  more 
unstable  and  had  a  greater  fall  than  man.  Let 
us  be  thankful  then  that  we  are  men,  and  rest 
content,  knowing  that  curiosity  was  man's  fall, 
and  let  us  admire  the  unknowable  counsels  of 
God.     And  further  — 

"  let  vs  know  that  God  the  Maker  is 
Of  all  the  Sou/es,  in  all  the  men  that  be; 
Yet  their  corruption  is  no  fault  of  His, 
But  the  first  man's  that  broke  God's  first  decree." 

Thus  the  poet  disposes  of  the  objection  of 
Traducianism  to  Creationism  growing  out  of  the 
dogma  of  original  sin.  Davies  finds  no  difficulty 
in  his  own  mind  of  freeing  God  from  responsi- 
bility for  man's  supposed  birth  in  sin.  On  this 
much  mooted  question  of  theology,  then,  con- 
cerning the  mode  of  the  soul's  origin  in  its  rela- 
tion to  the  body,  Davies  contends  that  every  soul 
is  an  immediate  creation  on  the  part  of  God,  on 
occasion  of  the  conception  of  a  body,  and  is  united 
to  the  body  in  its  pre-natal  state. 


The  question  of  the  origin  of  the  soul  in  its 
relation  to  the  body  has  been  largely,  although  not 
exclusively,  associated  with  the  problem  of  sin  in 
the  history  of  speculative  thought.     The  theory  of 


Origin  of  the  Soul  127 

Prc-extstence,  as  well  as  the  theories  of  Creation- 
ism  and  Traducianism,  has  been  brought  forward 
as  a  probable  explanation  of  this  difficult  question. 
The  doctrine  of  Pre-existence  figures  more  or  less 
conspicuously  in  Greek  philosophy.  It  can  be 
traced  to  Pythagoras  and  his  school.  Herodotus 
says  that  the  Greeks  borrowed  it  from  the  Egyp- 
tians.^ But  this  statement  is  open  to  question,  as 
the  doctrine  was  an  Orphic  tradition.  With  the 
Pythagoreans  the  soul,  prior  to  its  incarnation, 
existed  in  a  higher  realm.  The  transmigration 
of  souls  was  associated  with  evil  doing.  Souls 
descended  into  bodies  of  animals  as  a  punishment 
for  sin.^  Zeller,  one  of  the  ablest  and  most  reli- 
able of  historians  of  Greek  philosophy,  attributes 
the  doctrine  also  to  Heraclcitus,  one  of  the  early 
Greek  philosophers,'  The  doctrine  is  also  taught 
by  Empedocles  in  his  famous  philosophical  poem 
entitled  On  Nature.  In  the  teaching  of  this  poet- 
philosopher  the  doctrine  is  also  associated  with 
sin.  We  next  find  the  doctrine  taught  by  Plato. 
Although  it  is  taught  in  a  number  of  his  works,  it 
is  in  the  Phccdo  that  we  find  an  especially  interest- 

1  15k.  II.  123. 

'  "  Diogenes  Laertius,"  Pk.  VIIT.  19. 

•  "  Pre-Socratic  Philosophy,"  trans,  by  S.  F.  Allcyjie.    Lon- 
don, 1881,  Vol.  II.  p.  87. 


I2S  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

ing  development  of  it.^  Plato  founds  the  doctrine 
on  the  fact  of  recollection,  or  reminiscence.  He 
represents  Cebes  in  his  conversation  with  Socrates 
as  saying:  "Your  favorite  doctrine,  Socrates,  that 
knowledge  is  simply  recollection,  if  true,  also  neces- 
sarily implies  a  previous  time  in  which  we  learned 
that  which  we  now  recollect.  But  this  would  be 
impossible  unless  our  soul  was  in  some  place 
before  existing  in  the  human  form."^  We  are 
taught  in  this  doctrine  of  recollection  that  our 
sense-perceptions  are  copies  of  Ideas  which  the 
soul  perceived  in  a  pre-existent  state.  But  Plato's 
doctrine  also  involves  a  migration  of  souls  as  a 
penalty  for  sin  —  a  migration  through  human  and 
animal  bodies.^  Later,  Pre-existence  is  taught  by 
the  Nco-Pythagoreans,  whose  anthropology  is  es- 
sentially that  of  Plato.*  Still  later  it  is  found  in 
the  works  of  Philo  Judaius,  who  was  greatly  influ- 
enced by  Plato.  In  Philo  Pre-existence  is  asso- 
ciated with  the  fact  of  sin.  His  teaching  involves 
transmigration    as   a   punishment    and    means   of 

1  Cf.  "  Phaedo,"  73. 

»  "The  Dialogues  of  Plato,  Phaedo,"  trans,  by  B.  Jowett. 
New  York,  1885,  Vol.  I.  p.  399. 

«  "Pha;do,"8i,82sq. 

*  Zeller,  "Outlines  of  the  History  of  Greek  Philosophy," 
trans,  by  Alleyne  and  Abbott.     New  York,  1886,  p.  309. 


Origin  of  the  Soul  129 

purification.^  Again,  there  is  quite  an  elaborate 
development  of  the  doctrine  in  Plotinus,  who  also 
reveals  the  influence  of  Plato.  According  to  him 
the  soul  in  the  pre-existent  state  was  powerfully 
impelled  from  within  itself  to  the  body.  Its  incar- 
nation represents  a  moral  Fall.^  Porphyry  taught 
migration  of  souls  from  human  bodies  to  other 
human  bodies.^ 

When  we  turn  to  Christian  thought  we  find  the 
doctrine  taught  by  the  Church  Father,  Origcn. 
He  was  also  under  the  influence  of  Greek  thought. 
The  soul,  according  to  him,  sinned  in  a  pre-existent 
state,  and  its  incarnation  is  the  penalty  for  its  sin.* 
It  may  be  found  also  in  the  writings  of  Cyril  of 
Alexandria,^  Nemesius,^  and  Prudentius.'^ 

In  Jewish  literature  there  are,  in  the  Tahiucf, 
suggestions  of  a  doctrine  of  pre-existence  in  the 
form  of  souls  existing  archctypally  in  the  Divine 

1  "The  Works  of  Philo  Judaeus,"  trans,  by  C.  D.  Yonge, 
London,  1854;  cf.  especially  "A  Treatise  on  the  Giants,"  Vol.  I. 
sees.  2  and  3,  also,  "  A  Treatise  on  the  Doctrine  that  Dreams  are 
Sent  from  God,"  Vol.  II.  Bk.  I.  sec.  22. 

2  "  Ennead,"  IV.  6. 

•  Augustine,  "De  Civitate  Dei,"  X.  30. 

*  "  De  Principiis,"  I.  c.  vii.  4,  5. 

'  "  Commentarium  in  Evangelium  Joannis,"  IV. 
'  "  De  Natura  Hominis,"  c.  ii. 
"*  "  Liber  Calheinerinon,"  X.  v. 
9 


: 


ijo  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

mind ;  and,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  we  find  it  taught 
as  a  positive  doctrine  in  the  Kabbala  ^  and  certain 
Rabbinical  writings.  Indeed,  here  the  doctrine 
assumes  essentially  the  form  of  the  doctrine  which 
Davics  refutes;  namely,  a  storehouse  of  pre-exist- 
cnt  souls  destined  to  occupy  human  bodies. 

This  briefly  is  the  history  of  the  doctrine  of 
Prc-cxistence  prior  to  the  time  of  our  poet.  It  is 
interesting  to  note  that  it  appears  again  later  in 
English  literature.  Henry  More  revives  it  in  his 
philosophical  poem  on  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul 
(II.  12).  It  is  not  uncommon  in  nineteenth  cen- 
tury English  poetry,  although  here  it  is  not  asso- 
ciated with  a  doctrine  of  sin.  It  is  to  be  found  in 
one  of  its  Platonic  aspects  in  Wordsworth's  Inti- 
mations of  Immortality  from  Recollections  of  Early 
Childlicod.  It  is  brought  forward  by  Tennyson 
in*  The  Two  Voices  (even  in  its  transmigration 
aspect),  De  Profundis,  Idylls  of  the  King,  and  The 
Ancient  Sage.  lirowning  affirms  it  in  his  Cristina, 
and  Mrs.  Browning  suggests  it  in  Aurora  Leigh. 
We  even  find  it  taught  in  recent  German  theol- 
ogy. Julius  Miiller  in  his  Lchre  von  dcr  Siindc? 
teaches  a  moral  Fall  of  man  in  a  timeless  state. 
As   we    have   seen,  Davics   could  not  accept  the 

»  "  Zohar,"  I.  19.  »  IV.  c.  iv.  §§  1-3. 


Origin  of  the  Soul  ijr 

doctrine.  To  him  it  was  an  unsatisfactory  theory 
of  the  origin  of  the  soul  in  its  connection  with  the 
body.  He  disposes  of  it  with  little  argumentation, 
and  puts  in  its  stead  the  doctrine  of  a  successive 
creation  of  souls  to  parallel  a  successive  formation 
of  bodies  —  each  soul  uniting  with  the  body  as  it 
is  formed  in  the  mother's  womb :  — 

"  But  as  God^s  handmaid,  Nature,  doth  create 
Bodies  in  time  distinct,  and  order  due ; 
So  God  giues  soules  the  like  successiue  date, 
Which  Himselfe  makes,  in  bodies  formed  new." 

Creationism  and  Traducianism  have  played  a 
much  more  important  part  in  the  history  of 
speculative  thought  than  has  the  doctrine  of  Pre- 
existence.  They  have  been  associated  with  the 
dogma  of  original  sin  in  Christian  theology.  Crea- 
tionism found  wide  acceptance  in  early  Christian 
speculative  thought.  Clement  of  Alexandria 
taught  the  doctrine.^  It  was  held  also  by  Lactan- 
tius.2  It  was  advocated  by  Theodoret,^  also  by 
Hilary.*  On  the  other  hand,  Tertullian  taught 
Traducianism  —  defending  it  on  both  philosophical 

»  "  Stromata,"  VI.  i6. 

'  "Institutioues  Divinx,"  III.  i8. 

5  "Graecarum  Affectionutn  Curatio,"  V. 

*  "  Tractatus  super  Psalmos,"  XLI.  3. 


1^2  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

and  scriptural  grounds.*  It  was  maintained  also 
by  Gregory  of  Nyssa;*  also  by  Athanasius.^ 
Augustine  is  not  explicit  in  his  teaching  concern- 
ing the  question  of  the  mode  of  the  soul's  origin 
in  connection  with  the  body.  He  did  not  commit 
himself  positively  to  either  doctrine.  However, 
his  doctrine  of  sin  seems  to  imply  Traducianism.* 

Among  the  Schoolmen  the  verdict  was  almost 
unanimous  in  favor  of  Creationism.  Among  the 
more  prominent  of  these  famous  thinkers  who 
favored  the  doctrine  were:  Anselm,^  Hugo  of  St. 
Victor,^  Bonaventura,'  and  Thomas  Aquinas.^ 

In  the  sixteenth  century  Creationism  was  still 
the  favorite  doctrine  in  Catholic  circles.  This  is 
also  the  case  in  Protestant  Theology  despite  the 
fact  that  Luther  leaned  toward  Traducianism. 

Creationism  was  early  affirmed  by  the  Formula 
Concordics'^  and  the  doctrine  is  usually  attributed 

1  "  ne  Anima,"  XXV. 

a  "De  Hominis  Opificio,"  XXIX. 

'  "Oratio  contra  Arianos,"  II.  48. 

*  "De  Civitate  Dei,"  XI.-XIIL;  also  "  De  Gratia  Christi 
et  de  Peccato  Original!." 

*  *' De  Conceptu  Virginali,"  VII. 

«  "  De  Sacramentis  Christian.-B  Fidei,"  I.  vii. 

1  "Breviloq."III.  6. 

8  "Summ.-i  Theologiac,"  I.  118. 

»  Arts.  I.,  II. 


Origin  of  the  Soul  i^^ 

to  Calvin,  although  he  is  not  very  pronounced  in 
his  views.^     The  Reformed  theologians,  however, 
generally  taught  the  doctrine.     In  the  seventeenth 
century  Traducianism  was   quite    universally  ac- 
cepted among  Lutheran  theologians.     Prominent 
among  these  were  Gerhard,^  of  the  University  of 
Jena,  Caloveus,^  of  Wittenberg,  and  Hollaz,*  of 
Jacobshagen.      On  the  other  hand  the  Calvinists 
favored  Creationism.     Since  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury there  has  been  a  great  difference  of  opinion 
in  the  Protestant  world,  often,  indeed,  in  the  same 
denomination,^     Of  late  years  a  theory  has  been 
advanced  by  Martensen  and  Dorner,  which  is  of 
the  nature  of  a  compromise.     The  former  holds 
that   there   is   a   truth    in  both    Creationism    and 
Traducianism.^      And  Dorner  even  combines  the 
doctrine  of  Pre-existence   with    Creationism    and 
Traducianism.      He   says:    *' Each   one    of  these 
theories  represents  one  aspect  of  the  whole  truth, 
—  Traducianism  generic  consciousness,  Pre-exist- 

1  "  Institutes  of  the  Christian  Religion,"  Vol.  I.  Bk.  II.  ch.  i. 
a  "Loci  Theologiae,"  IX.  8,  116-117. 

•  "  Systema  Locorum  Theolog.,"  etc.,  III.  Art.  V.  2, 

*  "  Examen  Theologicum,"  etc.,  I.  5. 

6  Compare,  for  example,  such  recent  writers  as  Hodge,  "Sys- 
tematic Theology,"  II.  iii.  3,  and  Shedd,  "  Dogmatic  Theology," 
ILL 

"  "Dogmatics,"  trans.,  pp.  162-163. 


tS4  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

entianism  self-consciousness  or  the  interest  of  the 
personality  as  a  separate  eternal  divine  thought, 
.    .    .   Creationism    God-consciousness.      Nothing 
but  the  union  of  these  three  elements  is  sufficient. 
But  the  union  must  not  be  so  conceived  as  if  there 
were  a  mechanical  division  of  the  process  between 
God,  the  genus,  and  the  element  of  personality."  ^ 
This  briefly  has  been  the  course  of  thought  on 
this  question  of  the  origin  of  the  soul  in  its  rela- 
tion to  the  body.     Davies  in  adopting  the  theory 
of  Creationism  was  undoubtedly  influenced  by  six- 
teenth  century  theology.     Especially   is   Calvin's 
influence  manifest  in  his  thinking  on  this  subject, 
and  more  particularly  so  in  his  somewhat  elaborate 
consideration  of  the  objection  of  Traducianism  to 
Creationism  based  on  the  dogma  of  original  sin. 
A  comparison  of  the  views  of  the  theologian  and 
poet  on  this  point  will  make  this  evident:  — 

In  the  first  place,  they  agree  in  their  treatment 
of  the  Fall  of  man  in  affirming  the  essential  unity 
of  the  race.  They  represent  Adam  as  the  "  root " 
and  "  fountain  head  "  of  man.  They  affirm,  that 
corruption  of  the  root,  involved  corruption  of  the 
branches;     and    that    pollution   of    the    fountain, 

1  "System  of  Christian  Doctrine,"  trans,  by  Cave  and  Banks, 
Vol.  II.  sec.  43. 


Origin  of  the  Soul  ij^ 

involved  pollution  of  the  streams.  Calvin  says: 
"  We  thus  see  that  the  impurity  of  parents  is  trans- 
mitted to  their  children,  so  that  all,  without  excep- 
tion, are  originally  depraved.  The  commencement 
of  this  depravity  will  not  be  found  until  we  ascend 
to  the  first  parent  of  all  as  the  fountain  head.  We 
must,  therefore,  hold  it  for  certain,  that,  in  regard 
to  human  nature,  Adam  was  not  merely  a  progeni- 
tor, but,  as  it  were,  a  root,  and  that,  accordingly, 
by  his  corruption,  the  whole  human  race  was  de- 
servedly vitiated." ' 

Davies,  referring  to  Adam's  sin,  says:  — 

♦'  He  [God]  lookes  on  Adam,  as  a  root,  or  well, 

And  on  liis  heires,  as  branches,  and  as  streamesij; 
He  sees  all  men  as  one  Man,  though  they  dwell 
In  sundry  cities,  and  in  sundry  realmes  : 

"  And  as  the  roote  and  branch  are  but  one  tree. 

And  well  and  streame  doe  but  one  riuer  make; 

So,  if  the  root  and  well  corrupted  bee, 

Tlie  streame  and  branch  the  same  corruption  take : 

*•  So,  when  the  root  and  fountaine  of  Mankind 
Did  draw  corruption,  and  God's  curse,  by  sin ; 
This  was  a  charge  that  all  his  heires  did  bind, 
And  all  his  offspring  grew  corrupt  therein." 

Again,   with    both    writers,    original   sin   means 

hereditary  sin.     Calvin  says :  "  Original  sin,  then, 

1  Op.  cit.,  13k.  II.  ch.  i.  sec  6. 


/  J<5  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

may  be  defined  an  hereditary  corruption  and  de- 
pravity of  our  nature,  extending  to  all  the  parts 
of  the  soul,  which  first  makes  us  obnoxious  to  the 
wrath  of  God,  and  then  produces  in  us  works  which 
in  Scripture  are  termed  works  of  the  flesh."  ^ 
Davies  also  affirms:  — 

"So  Adam's  sinne  to  the  whole  kind  extends; 
For  all  their  natures  are  but  part  of  his." 

"Therefore  this  sinne  of  kind,  not  personal!, 
But  reall  and  hereditary  was." 

Again,  both  writers  affirm  that  original  sin  in- 
volves not  merely  punishment  for  us,  but  also 
actual  guilt.  Even  the  child  in  the  mother's  womb 
is  a  sinful,  guilty,  condemned  soul.  Calvin  says: 
"  Hence,  even  infants  bringing  their  condemnation 
with  them  from  their  mother's  womb,  suffer  not  for 
another's,  but  for  their  own  defect.  For  although 
they  have  not  yet  produced  the  fruits  of  their  own 
unrighteousness,  they  have  the  seed  implanted  in 
them.  Nay,  their  whole  nature  is,  as  it  were,  a 
sccd-bed  of  sin,  and  therefore  cannot  but  be  odious 
and  abominable  to  God.  Hence  it  follows,  that  it 
is  properly  deemed  sinful  in  the  sight  of  God ;  for 
there  could  be  no  condemnation  without  guilt."* 
1  Op.  cit.,  lik.  II.  ch.  i.  sec.  8. 
a  Ibid. 


Origin  of  the  Soul  1^7 

Davies  subscribes  to  this  view  of  infant  guilt  and 
condemnation :  — 

"  And  yet  this  Soule  (made  good  by  God  at  first, 
And  not  corrupted  by  the  bodie's  ill) 
Euen  in  the  wombe  is  sinfull,  and  accurst, 
Ere  shee  can  iuif^e  by  wit  or  chuse  by  wili." 

And,  again,  showing  how  we  are  involved  in  guilt 
and  punishment,  he  says:  — 

"  The  guilt  whereof,  and  punishment  to  all, 

By  course  of  Nature,  and  of  Law  doth  passe." 

Still  another  point  concerning  original  sin  i|i 
which  both  writers  agree  is,  that  the  soul  is  not 
only  stripped  of  its  native  virtues,  but  that  many 
vices  take  their  place.  On  this  point  Calvin 
affirms:  "After  the  heavenly  image  in  man  was 
effaced,  he  not  only  was  himself  punished  by  a 
withdrawal  of  the  ornaments  in  which  he  had  been 
arrayed,  viz.,  wisdom,  virtue,  justice,  truth,  and 
holiness,  and  by  the  substitution  in.  their  place  of 
those  dire  pests,  blindness,  impotence,  vanity,  im- 
purity, and  unrighteousness,  but  he  involved  his 
posterity  also,  and  plunged  them  in  the  same 
wretchedness."  ^ 

1  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  II.  ch.  i.  sec.  5. 


ijS  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

In  similar  vein  Davies  writes :  — 

"  Yet  not  alone  the  first  good  qualities, 

Which  in  the  first  sou/e  were,  depriued  are ; 
But  in  their  place  the  contrary  doe  rise, 
And  reall  spots  of  sinne  her  beauty  marre." 

Furthermore,  Calvin  and  Davies  agree  in  affirm- 
ing that  original  sin  in  no  way  impeaches  the 
justice  of  God.  Calvin  says:  "That  being  thus 
perverted  and  corrupted  in  all  the  parts  of  our 
nature,  we  are,  merely  on  account  of  such  cor- 
ruption, deservedly  condemned  by  God,  to  whom 
nothing  is  acceptable  but  righteousness,  innocence, 
and  purity  .  .  .  The  blame  of  our  ruin  rests 
with  our  own  carnality,  not  with  God,  its  only 
cause  being  our  degeneracy  from  our  original 
condition.  .  .  .  Let  us  remember  that  our  ruin 
is  attributable  to  our  own  depravity,  that  we  may 
not  insinuate  a  charge  against  God  himself,  the 
Author  of  nature.  It  is  true  that  nature  has  re- 
ceived a  mortal  wound,  but  there  is  a  great  differ- 
ence between  a  wound  inflicted  from  without,  and 
one  inherent  in  our  first  condition.  It  is  plain  that 
this  wound  was  inflicted  by  sin;  and,  therefore, 
we  have  no  ground  of  complaint  except  against 
ourselves."  ^ 

I  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  II.  ch.  i.  sees.  8,  lo. 


Origin  of  the  Soul  ijg 

We  have  seen  above  how  earnestly  Davies  insists 
upon  the  justice  of  God  in  answer  to  the  objec- 
tion of  Traducianism  to  Creationism  growing 
out  of  the  doctrine  of  original  sin.  He  argues 
that  in  human  law  offspring  suffer  for  the  crimes 
of  parents  and  even  of  more  remote  ancestors, 
and  asks :  — 

"  And  is  not  God's  decree  as  iust  as  ours, 

If  He,  for  Adam''s  sinne,  his  sonnes  depriue, 
Of  all  those  natiue  vertues,"  etc. 

Finally,  both  writers  raise  the  same  question,  or» 
rather,  both  put  into  the  mouths  of  others  the 
question  as  to  why  God  did  not  do  more  to  pre- 
vent Adam's  fall.  And,  though  they  differ  some- 
what in  regard  to  their  reply,  both  counsel  modesty 
with  reference  to  prying  into  the  mysterious  and 
secret  counsels  of  the  Almighty.  Calvin  says: 
•'And  let  no  one  here  clamour  that  God  might 
have  provided  better  for  our  safety  by  preventing 
Adam's  fall.  This  objection,  which,  from  the  dar- 
ing presumption  implied  in  it,  is  odious  to  every 
pious  mind,  relates  to  the  mystery  of  predestina- 
tion, which  will  afterwards  be  considered  in  its 
own  place."  ^ 

1  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  II.  ch,  i.  sec.  lo. 


140  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Davies  also  says :  — 

"Vef  this  the  curious  wits  will  not  content ; 

They  yet  will  know  (sith  God  foresaw  this  ill) 
Why  His  high  Prouidence  did  not  preuent 
The  declination  of  the  first  man's  will." 

After  replying  to    this    objection  in  the  manner 
already  stated,  he  adds :  — 

♦'  Then  let  vs  praise  that  Power,  which  makes  vs  be 
Men  as  we  are,  and  rest  contented  so ; 
And  knowing  Man's  fall  was  curiositie, 
Admire  God's  counsels,  which  we  cannot  know." 

The  number  of  these  striking  similarities  in 
thought  in  the  two  thinkers  might  be  increased, 
but  a  sufficient  number  has  been  pointed  out  to 
show  beyond  reasonable  doubt  that  the  poet  was 
greatly  influenced  by  the  Genevan  theologian  in 
his  doctrine  of  original  sin.  In  meeting  the  ob- 
jection of  Traducianism  against  Crcationism, — 
that  it  is  impossible  to  hold  the  dogma  of  original 
sin  and  adhere  to  Crcationism  without  making 
God  responsible  for  the  birth  of  each  individual 
soul  in  sin, -^  Davies  seems  to  have  had  recourse 
to  Calvin's  Institutes  in  his  interpretation  and  ap- 
plication of  the  dogma. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  RELATION   OF   SOUL  AND   BODY 

'TT^HUS  far  our  poet  in  his  philosophy  of  mind 
has  discussed  the  question  of  the  reality 
and  essential  nature  of  mind,  arguing  its  reality 
against  the  claims  of  Sensationalism  and  Material- 
ism. He  has  explained  its  real  nature  to  be  that 
of  a  spiritual  substance,  —  the  fundamental  modes 
or  forms  of  whose  functioning  are  intellect  and  will. 
He  has  also  discussed  tlie  mode  of  the  soul's  origin 
in  relation  to  the  body,  canvassing  the  various 
theories,  and  taking  his  position  with  the  Crea- 
tionists, affirming  each  soul  to  be  an  immediate 
creation  on  the  part  of  the  Deity,  while  the  body 
is  still  in  its  pre-natal  state,  and  vindicating  the 
theory  against  the  objection  of  Traducianism  that 
it  is  inconsistent  with  the  dogma  of  original  sin. 
But  if  the  soul  be  a  reality,  and  a  spiritual  reality, 
it  is  nevertheless  not  a  disembodied  spirit.  It  is  a 
spirit  "  knit  to  the  body."     And  the  next   ques- 


/i/3  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

tion  which  naturally  suggests  itself,  and  which  the 
poet  considers,  is  the  union  of  soul  and  body. 
His  treatment  of  this  important  question  of  the 
philosophy  of  mind  is  peculiar.  Instead  of  at- 
tempting to  explain  the  relation  of  soul  and  body, 
he  first  dwells  upon  its  purpose  or  teleology. 
Then,  in  a  subsequent  part  of  the  poem,  he  at- 
tempts a  description  of  the  relation.  But  there 
seems  to  be  no  effort  to  really  explain  the  ultimate 
nature  of  this  relation,  which  is  the  problem  that 
most  concerns  the  philosophic  mind. 

With  reference  to  the  object  or  purpose  of  the 
union  of  body  and  mind,  Davics  says,  first,  that 
the  soul  is  joined  to  the  body  for  the  purpose  of 
becoming  a  microcosm.  Partaking,  as  it  does,  of 
the  nature  of  God,  and  also,  in  its  union  with  the 
body,  of  the  world,  it  bears  the  image  of  all  that 
is.  God  first  created  angels  as  pure  spirits.  He 
then  created  bodies  or  material  things  without 
spirits.     He  then  created  man  — 

"  th'  horizon  'twixt  both  kinds, 
In  whom  we  doe  the  World's  abridgement  see." 

Jiist  what  the  purpose  or  "  final  cause  "  of  such  a 
microcosm,  as  a  microcosm,  is,  Davics  fails  to 
reveal. 


The  Relation  of  Soul  and  Body  14J 

Another  reason  why  the  soul  was  united  to  the 
body  is  to  be  found  in  the  supposed  fact,  that  the 
world  needed  a  being  who  could  distinguish  all  of 
its  parts  —  making  use  of  them,  and  taking  de- 
light in  them.  It  needed  a  being  who  could  order 
things  with  industry  and  art;  a  being,  also,  who 
might  glorify  God,  admiring  Him  in  His  works, 
and  rendering  prayer  and  praise  unto  Him,  as  He 
is  glorified  by  the  angels  of  heaven. 

Again,  the  irrational  brute  world  needed  a  visi- 
ble king  to  rule  over  it.  It  is  in  this  capacity  as 
an  embodied  or  incarnated  spirit  that  man  has 
dominion  over  the  animal  world. 

And,  finally,  the  poet  closes  his  discussion  of 
the  teleology  of  the  union  of  soul  and  body  by 
calling  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  was  by  just  such 
an  incarnation  that  God  united  Himself  to  the 
world,  so  that  the  world  might  obtain  everlasting 
bliss. 

But,  as  already  stated,  the  poet  not  only  ex- 
plains the  teleology  of  the  union  of  body  and  soul, 
but  also  describes  it.  That  is,  he  describes  the 
7)tanncr  of  this  union.  He  first  proceeds  nega- 
tively. He  tells  us  what  the  manner  of  the  union 
is  not.  Nothing  ties  the  soul  to  the  body.  In 
this  respect  the  soul  is  independent  of  the  body. 


144  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Although  she  moves  the  body,  still  she  is  not  in 
actual  contact  with  it.  Neither  does  she  dwell  in 
the  body  as  in  a  tent,  nor  as  a  pilot  sits  in  his  ship; 
nor  as  a  spider  pent  in  his  web ;  nor  as  wax  re- 
tains an  impression ;  nor  as  a  vessel  holds  water; 
nor  as  a  liquor  mixed  in  another;  nor  as  heat 
in  fire ;  nor  as  a  voice  spread  in  air.  Not  after 
such  modes  of  union  is  the  union  of  body  and 
soul  to  be  conceived.  But  rather  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  union  of  the  morning  light  with  the  at- 
mosphere, which  he  poetically  describes  in  these 
words :  — 

"  But  as  the  faire  and  chcerfull  Morning  light. 
Doth  here  and  there  her  siluer  beames  impart. 
And  in  an  instant  doth  herselfe  vnite 
To  the  transparent  ayre,  in  all,  and  part : 

"  Still  resting  whole,  when  blowes  th'  ayre  diuide  ; 
Abiding  pure,  when  th'  ayre  is  most  corrupted ; 
Throughout  the  ayre,  her  beams  dispersing  wide, 
And  when  the  ayre  is  tost,  not  interrupted  : 

•*  So  doth  the  piercing  Soule  the  body  fill, 
Being  all  in  all,  and  all  in  part  diffus'd; 
Indiuisible,  incorruptible  still, 
Not  forc't,  encountred,  troubled  or  confus'd. 

"And  as  the  sunne  aboue,  the  light  doth  bring. 
Though  we  behold  it  in  the  ayre  below  ; 
So  from  th'  Eternall  Light  the  Soule  doth  spring, 
Though  in  the  body  she  her  powers  doe  show." 


The  Relation  of  Soul  and  Body  14^ 

In  Davies's  account  of  the  relation  between  body 
and  soul  the  evidence  of  the  influence  of  Nemesius 
is  very  marked.  There  is  a  noticeable  agreement 
in  both  thought  and  language.  In  the  first  place, 
they  are  in  agreement  in  regard  to  the  teleology  of 
the  union.  According  to  both  authors,  the  reason 
why  the  soul  is  united  to  the  body  is,  the  forma- 
tion of  a  microcosm.  On  this  point  Nemesius 
says :  "  This  is  manifest,  that  Man  in  some  things 
participates  with  creatures  void  of  life  ;  and' that  he 
is  partaker  also  of  life,  as  those  living-creatures  be, 
which  are  unreasonable  :  and  that  he  is  indowed 
likewise  with  understanding,  as  are  Creatures 
reasonable y  ^  .  .  . 

"  These  things  considered,  Man  standeth  in  such 
a  Being  as  comprehends  the  sensible  and  intelli' 
gible  Nature.  In  respect  of  his  Bodily  powers ^ 
and  of  his  Bodily  substance  (which  is  subject  unto 
sense)  hee  agrees  both  with  living-creatures ^  and 
with  things  void  of  life >  In  respect  of  his  Reason- 
able part  he  communicates  with  Substances  which 
are  bodilesse  (or  spiritualC)  as  hath  been  said 
before."  2  .  ,  . 

"  These  things  considered,  Moses  in  expressing 

1  Op.  cit.,  pp.  6-7.  »  Ibid.,  pp.  S-9. 

10 


146  '       Philosophy  in  Poetry 

the  Creation  of  the  World,  did  very  properly  af- 
firme  that  Man  was  last  made.  Not  only,  because 
all  things  being  made  for  Man,  it  was  most  con- 
venient, that  all  such  things  ought  first  to  bee 
provided,  which  were  necessarily  pertinent  to  his 
use ;  and  that  he  who  was  to  have  the  use  of  them, 
should  afterward  be  created  :  But,  in  respect  both 
intcllectuall  and  visible  substances,  were  created, 
it  seemed  also  convenient  that  One  should  be 
made,  by  whom  those  two  Natures  should  be  so 
united  together,  that  the  whole  World  might  be- 
come One;  and  be  in  its  owne  selfe  so  agree- 
able, that  the  same  might  not  bee  at  variance,  or 
estranged  from  it  selfe.  Even  to  this  end,  was 
Man  made  such  a  living-creature,  as  might  joyne 
together  both  Natures,  and  (to  summe  up  all  in 
a  word)  therein  was  manifested  the  admirable 
wisdome  of  the  universall  CREATOR."  ^ 

Again,  referring  to  the  fact  that  man  is  a  micro- 
cosm, Nemcsius  says :  "  These  things  considered, 
who  is  able  to  commend  sufficiently  the  nobility 
of  this  living-creature  f  Behold,  he  bindcth  to- 
gether in  /t/;«i-^^  things  mortall  and  immortall ; 
and  knitteth  up  in  One,  things  reasonable  and 
unreasonable.  In  his  owne  nature,  hee  beareth 
1  Op.  cit.,  pp.  19-20. 


The  Relation  of  Soul  and  Body  147 

the   image  of  all  creatures^   and   from   thence   is 
rightly  called  A  little  world''  ^ 

In  the  following  words  Davies  also  makes  man 
a  microcosm,  and  says  that  this  is  the  purpose  of 
the  union  of  soul  and  body :  — 

"  This  substance,  and  this  spirit  of  God's  owne  makings 
Is  in  the  body  plact,  and  planted  heere ; 
That  both  of  God,  and  of  the  world  partaking, 
Of  all  that  is,  Man  might  the  image  beare. 

"  God  first  made  angels  bodilesse,  pure  minds, 
Then  other  things,  which  mindlesse  bodies  be; 
Last,  He  made  Man,  th'  horizon  twixt  both  kinds, 
In  whom  we  doe  the  World's  abridgement  see." 

Thus  both  writers  agree  that  one  of  the  purposes 
of  the  union  of  soul  and  body  in  man  was  to  form 
a  microcosm.  Not  only  is  the  thought  of  both 
the  same  here,  but  their  language  is  quite  similar. 
There  are  other  reasons  why  the  soul  is  united 
to  the  body  given  by  Davies,  which,  while  not 
explicitly  urged  by  Nemesius  as  reasons  for  such 
union,  are  nevertheless  pointed  out  by  him  as  the 
result  of  man's  constitution  as  body-mind.  They 
indicate  further  the  influence  of  Nemesius  on 
Davies.  Speaking  of  man,  Nemesius  says:  "It 
is  a  thing  proper  also,  to  Man  only,  to  learn  Arts 

1  Op.  cit,  p.  71. 


14S  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

and  Sciences^  and  to  worke  according  unto  such 
Arts  :  For  which  cause  they  who  define  him  say 
thus;  Man  is  a  living  Creature ^  indued  with 
Reason^  mortall,  capable  of  Consideration  and 
Science" *  Nemesius  does  not  say  that  this  was 
part  of  the  purpose  of  the  union  of  soul  and  body. 
But  it  seems  to  be  an  implication  of  his  thought 
that  this  is  the  result  of  such  a  constitution  of  man. 
Davies's  thought  and  words  are  similar:  — 

"  Besides,  this  World  below  did  need  one  wight. 
Which  might  thereof  distinguish  euery  part ; 
Make  vse  thereof,  and  take  therein  delight, 
And  order  things  with  industry  and  art." 

Again,  in  this  connection,  they  agree  that  man 
is  placed  here  to  govern  the  brute  world.  Neme- 
sius, contrasting  man's  constitution  as  body  and 
soul  with  that  of  the  angels,  and  also  with  non- 
rational  things,  points  out  that  it  is  because  of 
man's  unique  constitution  as  body-mind  that  he 
is  made  ruler  over  both  the  inanimate  and  animate 
worlds.  Having  contrasted  man's  nature  with  that 
of  the  angels,  he  says:  "This  being  so,  we  must 
seek  out  a  Nature  which  is  indued  with  Reason, 
and  yet  needeth  such  things  as  are  aforementioned  ; 
and  what  other  nature  can  be  found  of  that  sort, 
1  Op.  dt,  p.  47. 


The  Relation  of  Soul  atul  Body  14^ 

if  Man  be  passed  over?     Surely  none:     And  if 

no  other  can  be  discovered,  it  followeth  by  good 

reason  that  both  things  void  of  life,  and  unreason- 

able  creatures,  were  made  for  the  sake  of  Man; 

and  if  they  were  ordained  for  him  (as  it  is  evident 

they  were)  then,  that  was  likewise  the  cause  why 

he   was   constituted   the    Governor  also   of  those 

creatures"  ^ 

Davies,  also,  still  speaking  of  the  reason  "  why 

the  soul  is  united  to  the  body,"  says :  — 

"  Lastly,  the  bruite,  unreasonable  wights, 

Did  want  a  visible  king  on  them  to  raigne." 

Again,  in  the  very  chapter  and  section  referred 
to  before  in  which  Nemesius  speaks  of  man  as  a 
microcosm  or  '*  little  world,"  he  not  only  follows 
with  the  statement,  that  all  things  were  made 
for  man,  but  that  "  He  is  that  creature  also,  for 
whose  sake  GoD  became  Man,  and  who  shaking 
off  his  corruption,  finisheth  it  in  a  never-ending 
immortality."^ 

Davies,  too,  still  speaking  of  the  reasons  why 
the  soul  was  united  to  the  body,  says :  — 

"  Lastly,  the  bruite,  unreasonable  wights, 

Did  want  a  visible  king  on  them  to  raigne  : 
And  God,  Himselfe  thus  to  the  World  vnites, — 
That  so  the  World  might  endlesse  blisse  obtainc.'* 
»  Op.  cit.,  pp.  52-53.  »  Ibid.,  pp.  71-72. 


i$o  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

But  we  not  only  find  a  likeness  in  thought  and" 
language  between  the  two  writers  in  their  discus- 
sion of  the  teleology  of  the  union  of  soul  and 
body,  but  also  a  striking  similarity  in  what  they 
say  concerning  the  manner  of  this  union.  Both 
writers  first  proceed  negatively  in  their  descrip- 
tions. They  make  use  of  the  method  of  exclu- 
sion, and  then  state  positively  what  is  the  manner 
of  the  union  of  soul  and  body.  But  there  is  not 
merely  an  agreement  in  their  form  of  treatment 
of  the  subject,  but  also  in  the  content,  and  in  the 
language  which  embodies  the  content. 

In  the  first  place  they  agree  that  the  soul  is  not 
in  the  body  as  one  material  thing  is  in  another. 
Nemesius  argues  this  at  some  length.* 

Davies  says :  — 

"  Then  dwels  shee  not  therein  as  in  a  tent, 
Nor  as  a  pilot  in  his  sl)ip  doth  sit ; 
Nor  as  the  spider  in  his  web  is  pent ; 
Nor  as  the  waxe  retaines  the  print  in  it." 

I  But  Nemesius  becomes  more  specific,  and  makes 
use  of  illustrations,  and  here,  in  the  second  place, 
there  is  an  agreement  between  the  two  writers 
on  the  subject.  Nemesius  says,  that  the  soul  is 
not  in  the  body  as  in  a  vessel  or  bottle.  "  Neither 
1  Op.  cit.,  pp.  185-202. 


The  Relation  of  Soul  and  Body  i^i 

is  it  in  the  body  as  in  some  bottle  or  other  vessell, 
nor  compassed  in  by  the  same."  * 
So  Davies :  — 

"  Nor  as  a  vessell  water  doth  containe." 

Again,  Nemesius  says,  soul  and  body  are  not 
united  as  in  a  mixture  of  wine  and  water.  In  the 
latter  there  is  "corruption  and  confusion"  —  no 
preservation  of  the  distinctness  of  each,  whereas 
in  the  union  of  soul  and  body  such  "  corruption 
and  confusion  "  do  not  occur.  "  And  as  for  such 
a  mixture  as  is  made  of  wine  and  water,  wee  know 
it  corrupts  both  the  one  and  the  other;  for  there 
doth  remaine  neither  pure  water,  nor  pure  wine, 
after  such  a  mixture."^ 

Davies  says :  — 

"  Nor  as  a  vessell  water  doth  containe  ; 
Nor  as  one  liquor  in  another  shed." 

Again,  Nemesius  says,  that  the  soul  is  not  in 
the  body  as  fire  is  in  the  wood.  But  he  says 
this  in  an  indirect  way.  He  likens  the  relation 
of  the  soul  to  the  body,  to  the  relation  of  the 
sun  to  the  air,  but  with  this  difference,  "that  the 
Stinne  being  a  Body,  and  circumscribed  within' 
the  compasse  of  Place,  is  not  himselfe  in  every] 
1  Op.  cit.,  p.  199.  a  Ibid.,  p.  189. 


J  $2  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

place  where  h?3  /i^/t/  is,  but  (as  ^re  in  the  wood, 
or  as  the  flame  in  a  candW)  is  confined  to  a  cer- 
taine  place."  ^ 

So  Davies  affirms,  immediately  after  the  lines 
quoted  above :  — 

"  Nor  as  the  heat  doth  in  the  fire  remaine; 
Nor  as  a  voice  throughout  the  ayre  is  spread." 

Thus  both  writers  describe  the  union  of  soul 
and  body  negatively.  But  they  also  describe  it 
positively  or  affirmatively.  And  in  this  affirma- 
tive description  Davies  uses  the  very  same  simile 
used  by  Nemcsius.  The  latter  says :  *'  For,  as 
the  SuUt  so  soon  as  it  appeareth,  changes  the 
ayre  into  light ;  so  making  it  lightsome,  and  so 
diffusing  it  selfe  with  the  ayre,  that  it  is  united 
with  the  same,  and  yet  not  confounded  therewith : 
Even  so,  the  soul  being  united  with  the  Body, 
remaincs  without  confusion  therewith;  differing 
in  this  onely,  that  the  Siinne  being  a  Body,  and 
circumscribed  within  the  compasse  of  Place,  is 
not  him  selfe  in  every  place  where  his  light  is, 
but  (as  fire  in  the  wood,  or  as  the  flavie  in  a 
candle)  is  confined  to  a  certaine  placc.""^ 

In  strikingly  similar  language  Davies  describes 
the  relation  of  soul  and  body.     He  says :  — 

»  Op.  cit,  p.  198.  ''*  Ibid.,  pp.  197-198 


The  Relation  of  Soul  and  Body  i^) 

"  But  as  the  falre  and  cheerful!  Morning  lights 
Poth  here  aad  there  her  siluer  beames  iraparti 
And  in  an  instant  doth  herselfe  vnite 
To  the  transparent  ayre,  in  all,  and  part : 

"Still  resting  whole,  when  blowes  th'  ayre  diuide; 
Abiding  pure,  when  th'  ayre  is  most  corrupted; 
Throughout  the  ayre,  her  beams  dispersing  wide, 
And  when  the  ayre  is  tojt,  not  interrupted  : 

♦♦  So  doth  the  piercing  SouU  the  body  fill. 
Being  all  in  all,  and  all  In  part  diffus'd  j 
Indiuisible,  incorruptible  still, 
Not  forc't,  encountred,  troubled  or  confus'd." 

Not  only  does  he  use  the  same  simile  here  that 
is  used  by  Nemesius  as  descriptive  of  the  relation 
between  soul  and  body,  but  in  the  last  verse  of 
the  above  quotation,  he  uses  the  same  terms  that 
Nemesius  uses  in  speaking  of  this  relation.  He 
speaks  of  the  "  piercing  soul,"  as  "  being  all  ia 
all,"  and  **all  in  part,"  as  *' incorrupted "  by  this 
union,  as  not  '^  forced,"  *'  encountered,"  or  "  con- 
fused," These,  and  others  having  the  same  mean- 
ing, abound  in  the  description  by  Nemesius.^ 

It  seems  evident  from  this  comparison  of  the  de- 
scriptions of  the  union  between  soul  and  body  by 
Nemesius  and  Davies  that  the  latter  was  influenced 
decidedly  by  the  former.     And  when  we  add  this 

i  Cf.  op.  cit.,  pp.  185-202. 


1^4  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

evidence  to  the  evidence  previously  adduced  in 
favor  of  the  position  that  the  poet-philosopher  is 
indebted  to  the  Church  Father  for  aid,  it  places 
the  matter  beyond  reasonable  doubt. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  in  the  account  of  the 
relation  between  body  and  mind  by  Davies  there 
is  hardly  anything  beyond  a  mere  description  of 
their  union.  This  seems  rather  remarkable  in 
view  of  the  degree  of  thoroughness  with  which 
he  apprehends  and  treats  the  other  problems  of 
a  philosophy  or  metaphysics  of  mind.  One  can- 
not think  seriously  on  this  problem  for  any  length 
of  time  without  perceiving  that  it  is  one  of  the 
most  important,  far-reaching,  as  well  as  one  of 
the  most  difficult  problems  with  which  the  meta- 
physician must  deal.  For,  after  all,  the  problem 
is  but  one  aspect  of  a  more  general  one  —  the 
problem  of  interaction  —  how  one  thing  can  act 
upon  another.  And  the  answer  we  give  to  this 
question  will  determine  the  character  of  our  entire 
metaphysical  system — whether  it  shall  be  dual- 
istic  or  monistic,  materialistic  or  idealistic,  theis- 
tic  or  pantheistic.  For  in  the  final  analysis,  it 
involves  the  two  most  fundamental  questions  of 
metaphysics  —  the  ultimate  nature  of  reality  and 
the  relation  of  the  finite  to  the  Absolute.     This 


Tbe  Relation  of  Soul  and  Body  755 

being  so,  one  cannot  justly  dismiss  the  problem 
of  the  relation  of  mind  and  body  with  a  mere 
descriptive  statement  of  it,  as  Davies  has  done. 
Davies's  failure  to  treat  the  subject  with  philo- 
sophical thoroughness  stands  in  glaring  contrast 
to  the  serious  consideration  received  by  it  in  the 
century  immediately  following.  In  this,  the  seven- 
teenth century,  it  was  thoroughly  handled,  and 
there  was  a  rich  development  of  speculative  opin- 
ion concerning  the  ultimate  nature  of  the  relation 
between  mind  and  body,  especially  in  the  theories 
of  causal  relation  by  Descartes,  of  psycho-physical 
parallelism  by  Spinoza,  occasionalism  by  Male- 
branche  and  Geulincx,  and  pre-established  har- 
mony by  Leibnitz. 


CHAPTER  IX 

HOW  THE  SOUL  EXERCISES   ITS  POWERS   IN 
THE   BODY 

T^AVIES  next  considers  how  tne  mind  exer- 
^^  ci?es  its  various  powers  in  the  body.  This 
very  naturally  leads  him  to  an  analysis  and  de- 
scription of  the  different  powers  or  activities  of 
the  soul.  Here  again  his  work  is  crude,  but  not 
any  more  so  than  is  the  psychology  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  If  we  remember,  too,  the  state  of  physics 
and  physiology  at  that  time,  it  will  make  us  char- 
itable in  our  judgment  of  the  poet's  work,  es- 
pecially in  the  treatment  of  the  senses. 

In  the  first  place,  the  soul  is  possessed  of  a 
vegetative  or  quickening  power.  The  office  or 
function  of  this  power  is  to  vivify,  animate,  nourish, 
and  preserve  the  body.  It  is  present  in  every 
living  part  of  the  bodily  organism,  and  serves  it 
as  a  nurse  or  mother. 

In  the  second  place,  the  soul  is  endowed  with 
the  power  of  sense.     The  office  of  this  power  is 


How  the  Soul  exercises  its  Powers         is7 

to  acquaint  the  mind  with  the  superficial  qualities 
or  forms  of  things  —  the  colors,  tastes,  odors, 
sounds,  sizes,  forms,  etc.,  of  things.  Not  with  the 
inner,  but  with  the  outer  nature  of  things  —  with 
the  externals.  The  process  of  sense-perception, 
however,  is  not  carefully  analyzed :  — 

♦•  This  \      er,  in  parts  made  fit,  fit  obiects  takes, 
Yet  wOt  the  things,  but  forms  of  things  receiue«; 
As  when  a  seale  in  waxe  impression  makes. 
The  print  therein,  but  not  it  selfe  it  leaues." 

As  to  the  number  of  the  soul's  senses,  he  holds 
to  the  old  Aristotelian  classification  —  five  —  which 
he  treats  in  the  following  order,  —  sight,  hearing, 
taste,  smelling,  feeling  or  touch.  And,  first,  the 
sense  of  sight. 

The  eyes,  the  organs  of  vision,  are  located  in 
the  head,  and  thus  — 

"  Stand  as  one  watchman,  spy,  or  sentinell." 

Although  two  in  number,  they  act  as  one — al- 
though they  both  see,  they  report  but  one  thing. 
They  perceive  the  forms  of  all  things  and  all 
places.  They  serve  as  guides  to  the  body.  They 
are  the  chief  source  of  information  to  the  soul. 
They  contribute  no  beams  to  the  objects,  but 
receive  rays  from  them,  which  rays,  — 
"  in  the  eyes  with  pointed  angles  end." 


1^8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Explaining  further  the  physical  process  of  vision, 
he  says : — 

"  If  th'  obiects  be  farre  off,  the  rayes  doe  meet 
In  a  sharpe  point,  and  so  things  seeme  but  small ; 
If  they  be  neere,  their  rayes  doe  spread  and  fleet, 
And  make  broad  points,  that  things  seeme  great  withall." 

Finally,  he  mentions  nine  essentials  for  distinct 
vision  —  the  power  to  see,  the  light,  the  visible 
thing,  which  must  not  be  too  small,  or  thin,  or 
near,  or  far;  and  clear  space  and  time.  The 
science  of  optics  and  the  art  of  painting  are  based 
upon  the  sense  of  sight. 

He  next  deals  with  hearing.  The  organs  of 
hearing  are  the  ears.     Their  real  office  — 

"  is  the  troubled  ayre  to  take, 
Which  in  their  mazes  formes  a  sound  or  noyse, 
Whereof  her  selfe  doth  true  distinction  make." 

The  ears  are  located  high, — 

"  Because  all  sounds  doe  lightly  mount  aloft." 

Furthermore,  the  ears  are  constructed  as  they 
are  —  there  being  no  direct  passage  of  the  stimu- 
lus to  the  brain,  —  for  the  protection  of  the  brain. 
The  obstructions  to  an  immediate  striking  of  the 
brain  on  the  part  of  the  stimulus  afforded  by  the 
tympanum  and  the  windings  and  turnings  between 


How  the  Soul  exercises  its  Powers         i^g 

the  outer  ear  and  the  brain,  save  the  latter  from 
astonishment  and  confusion.  These  "  plaits  and 
folds  "  restrain  the  sound  so  that  it  comes  with 
a  gentle  touch  to  the  brain.  He  likens  this  re- 
lation of  the  physical  stimulus  of  sound  to  the 
brain  to  the  flow  of  winding  streams :  — 

"  As  streames,  which  with  their  winding  banks  doe  play, 
Stopt  by  their  creeks,  run  softly  through  the  plaine  ; 
So  in  th'  Eares'  labyrinth  the  voice  doth  stray, 
And  doth  with  easie  motion  touch  tlie  braine." 

But  while  the  sense  of  hearing  is  the  slowest,  it 

is,  on  the  other  hand,  the  daintiest  sense.     It  is 

capable  of  very  fine  discriminations.     The  art  of 

music  is  founded  on  this  sense.     But   its  proper 

object  is  human  speech,  and  especially  the  speech 

uttered  by  the   heralds   of  God.      The  senses  of 

sight  and  hearing  are  the  most  informing  senses. 

They  bring  most   knowledge    to   the   soul.     The 

other  senses,  as  we  shall  see,  are  more  concerned 

with  the  good  and  ill  of  the  body:  — 

"  Thus  by  the  organs  of  the  Ej'g  and  Earg, 

The  Soule  with  knowledge  doth  her  selfe  endue ; 
Thus  she  her  prison,  may  with  pleasure  beare, 
Hauing  such  prospects,  ail  the  world  to  view. 

"These  conduit-pipes  of  knowledge  feed  the  Mind, 
But  th'  other  three  attend  the  Body  still ; 
For  by  their  seruices  the  Soule  doth  find, 
What  things  are  to  the  body,  good  or  ill." 


t6o  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

The  first  of  these  body-serving  senses  of  which 
he  treats  is  taste.  Inasmuch  as  the  life  of  the 
body  is  fed  with  meats  and  air,  the  soul  makes 
use  of  the  sense  of  taste,  by  which  — 

♦*  In  veines,  which  through  the  tongue  and  palate  spred,** 

it  distinguishes  every  relish.  This  sense  is  pri- 
marily the  body's  nurse,  but  man  also  delights  in 
the  pleasures  of  taste.  As  a  result,  the  art  of 
cooking  comes  into  being. 

The  next  sense  to  be  considered  is  the  sense  of 
smell.     It  is  located  in  the  nostrils.     Its  office  is  — 

"  To  iudge  all  ayres,  whereby  we  breath  and  liue^ 

We  find  this  sense  also  to  be  "  mistresse  of  An 
Art,"  which  deals  with  sweet  perfumes.  This  art 
imparts  little  good,  —  those  smelling  best  who 
smell  least.  Still,  good  odors  purify  the  brain, 
awaken  the  fancy,  and  refine  the  wits:  — 

"  Hence  old  Deuotion^  incense  did  ordaine 
To  make  mens'  spirits  apt  for  thoughts  diuine." 

Lastly,  the  poet  treats  of  the  sense  of  feeling  or 
touch.  It  is  the  root  of  life.  It  is  omnipresent 
in  the  living  body  — 

"  By  sinewes,  which  extend  from  head  to  foot, 
And  like  a  net,  all  ore  the  body  spred." 


How  the  Soul  exercises  its  Powers         i6i 

Its  function  is  to  acquaint  us  with  such  qualities 
of  bodies  as  hot  and  cold,  moist  and  dry,  hard 
and  soft,  rough  and  smooth.  Through  touch 
also  we  experience  pleasure  and  pain. 

The  poet  ends  his  account  of  the  senses  by 
again  calling  attention  to  their  relation  to  the 
higher  powers  of  mind  :  — 

"  These  are  the  outward  instruments  of  Sense, 

These  are  the  guards  which  euery  thing  must  passe 

Ere  it  approch  the  mind's  intelligence, 

Or  touch  the  Fantasie,  IVtTs  looking-glasse^'* 

Having  thus  treated  of  the  power  of  sense,  he 
next  takes  up  the  subject  of  the  imagination  or 
common  sense.  Here  he  enters  a  little  more  into 
an  explanation  or  description  of  the  mechanism 
involved  in  the  apprehension  of  things  by  sense, 
for  in  such  apprehension  the  imagination  and  fan- 
tasie are  concerned.  The  senses  themselves  really 
do  not  perceive.     They  — 

"  Themselues  perceiue  not,  nor  discerne  the  things." 

There  is  a  common  power,  "  which  doth  in  the 
forehead  sit,"  which  brings  together  the  forms  of 
external  things  collected  by  the  senses.  Because 
all  of  the  nerves  which  spread  to  the  outward 
organs,  and  which  bear  the  "  spirits  of  sense,"  are 


i62  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

united  in  this  portion  of  the  brain;  and  here  are 
discerned,  by  a  common  power  which  is  called 
the  imagination  or  the  common  sense,  the  "  sundry 
formes  "  of  sense. 

But  now  occurs  another  process  —  a  transmis- 
sion of  these  forms  thus  perceived  by  imagination 
or  common  sense  to  a  still  higher  region  of  the 
brain,  where  is  located  another  power  of  mind  — 
the  "  fantasie  " :  — 

"Those  outward  organs  present  things  receiue, 
This  inward  Sense  doth  absent  things  retaine; 
Yet  straight  transmits  all  formes  shee  doth  perceiue, 
Vnto  a  higlier  region  of  the  brained 

This  power  of  fantasie  beholds  and  discerns  the 
forms  thus  transmitted ;  compounds  and  compares 
them,  and  tests  their  values.  It  is  an  exceedingly 
busy  power,  operating  day  and  night —  the  flutter- 
ing wings  of  a  thousand  dreams  keeping  it  awake 
when  the  senses  are  at  rest. 

There  is  still  another  power  involved  in  the 
apprehension  of  sense  —  the  sensitive  memory. 
Notwithstanding  the  activity  of  the  fantasie,  all 
forms  may  not  be  present  to  her  sight.  Those 
which  she  has  ceased  to  see  are  retained  by 
memory,  which  power  is  located  in  the  rear  part 
of   the   brain.     With   this   brief    mention   of  the 


How  the  Soul  exercises  its  Powers         !6) 

sensitive   memory  we    reach  an  end  of  "  sense's 
apprehension :  "  — 

"  Heere  Sense's  apprehension,  end  doth  take ; 
As  when  a  stone  is  into  water  cast, 
One  circle  doth  another  circle  make, 
Till  the  last  circle  touch  the  banke  at  last" 

But  there  are  also  "  passions  of  sense "  which 
are  caused  in  the  heart  by  the  "  motiue  vertue " 
of  the  soul.  These  passions  are  joy,  grief,  fear, 
hope,  hate,  and  love.  They  possess  "  a  free  com- 
manding might,"  and  different  actions  are  impelled 
by  them.  All  actions  not  directed  by  reason 
spring  from  these  passions.  Now  the  question 
arises.  How,  if  the  power  of  sense  is  located  in  the 
brain,  does  the  brain  give  rise  to  these  passions  of 
sense  in  the  heart?  It  is  due  to  the  mutual  love 
and  kind  intelligence  which  exist  between  the 
brain  and  heart.  But  more  specifically  it  may 
be  explained  as  follows :  The  "  spirits  of  life " 
have  their  origin  in  the  heat  of  the  heart.  When 
the  "  spirits  of  life  "  ascend  to  the  brain,  they  give 
rise  to  the  "  spirits  of  sense."  These  "  spirits  of 
sense  "  judge  of  the  nature  of  objects  whether 
good  or  ill,  in  the  court  of  the  fantasie.  They 
report  their  judgments  to  the  heart  —  the  seat  of 
the  passions.     If  the  report  be  good,  the  passions 


1 64  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

of  love,  hope,  and  joy  are  called  into  being.  If 
the  report  be  ill,  it  causes  hatred,  fear,  and  grief. 
These  natural  passions  would  be  good,  were  rea- 
son possessed  of  its  original  perfection,  so  as  to 
properly  direct  them. 

But  there  is  still  another  motive  power  which 
comes  from  the  heart, — 

*'  from  whose  pure  blood  do  spring 
The  vitall  spirits ;  which,  borne  in  arteries, 
Continuall  motion  to  all  parts  doe  bring. 

♦•  This  makes  the  pulses  beat,  and  lungs  respire, 
This  holds  the  sinewes  like  a  bridle's  reines; 
And  makes  the  Body  to  aduance,  retire. 
To  turne  or  stop,  as  she  them  slacks,  or  straines. 

"  Thus  the  sottle  tunes  the  bodies  instrument ; 

These  harmonies  she  makes  with  life  and  sense j 

The  organs  fit  are  by  the  body  lent, 

But  th'  actions  flow  from  the  Soule^s  influence." 

The  poet  now  turns  to  the  consideration  of  the 
two  powers  of  the  soul  which  are  really  expressive 
of  its  nature, —  the  powers  of  wit  and  will.  These 
powers  are  peculiar  to  man's  soul  as  compared 
with  the  animal  soul.  On  earth  no  other  being 
is  endowed  with  these  higher  powers  of  mind. 
The  poet  first  deals  with  the  power  of  wit.  This 
power  looks  into  the  fantasic,  wherein  the  senses 


How  the  Soul  exercises  its  Powers  i6^ 

gather,  and  abstracts  from  thence  the  shapes  or 
forms  of  things.  These,  after  being  received  into 
the  passive  part  of  the  wit  or  intellect,  are  enlight- 
ened by  the  active  intellect,  and  thus  the  mind  or 
intellect  perceives  the  forms  of  single  things.  The 
next  step  is  by  discourse,  anticipation,  and  com- 
parison, to  gain  a  knowledge  of  universal  natures, 
and  to  trace  effects  to  their  causes.  Now  the 
power  of  wit  is  known  by  different  names  as  it 
functions  differently.  When  it  reasons,  or  "  moues 
from  ground  to  ground,"  it  is  known  as  reason. 
When  by  this  process  of  reasoning  it  has  attained 
the  truth,  and  stands  fixed  therein,  it  is  known 
as  understanding.  When  the  wit  only  slightly 
assents,  then  it  is  opinion.  When  it  defines  a 
certain  truth  by  principles,  then  we  have  judg- 
ment. Many  reasons  lead  to  understanding. 
Many  understandings  lead  to  knowledge,  and 
much  knowledge  leads  to  wisdom.  Rut  while 
man  thus  ascends  by  steps  to  wisdom,  he  has 
a  certain  native  power  —  certain  "  sparkes  of 
light,"  by  which  he  can  discern  "  some  common 
things":  — 

"  For  Nature  in  man's  heart  her  lawes  doth  pen ; 
Prescribing  truth  to  wit,  and  good  to  will; 
Which  doe  accuse,  or  else  excuse  all  men. 
For  euery  thought  or  practise,  good  or  ill." 


I 


1 66  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

"  And  yet  these  sparkes  grow  almost  infinite, 

"  Making  the  World,  and  all  tlierein  their  food." 

These  sparks  were  almost  quenched  by  the  Fall  of 
man,  but  they  are  increased  by  a  heavenly  light  in 
those  who  have  been  justified  through  faith  in  Christ. 
Now  just  as  we  are  endowed  with  wit,  which 
should  truly  l-/iow  goodness,  so  we  are  endowed 
with  will,  which  ought  to  choose  true  goodness. 
Will  often  errs  in  choosing,  taking  evil  for  good, 
and  good  for  evil,  simply  because  of  the  error  of 
wit.  The  relations  between  wit  and  will  are  very 
intimate,  and  the  poet  points  these  out.  Will 
executes  what  wit  devises.  Will  acts ;  wit  con- 
templates. And  as  wisdom  arises  from  wit,  so  all 
other  virtues  spring  from  the  will.  Wit  is  coun- 
sellor to  will,  and  will  carries  out  its  counsels. 
Wit  is  the  chief  judge  of  the  mind,  controlling  the 
judgments  of  the  fancy.  Will  is  king  and  with  its 
royal  sceptre  rules  the  passions  of  the  heart. 
Finally,  the  poet  affirms  that  will  is  free.  The 
soul  in  the  exercise  of  this  power  is  neither  re- 
strained nor  constrained  by  any  outside  power. 
It  is  a  self-determining  being:  — 

**  Will  is  as  free  as  any  emperour, 

Naught  can  restraine  h^r  gentle  libertie  ; 
No  tyrant,  nor  no  torment,  hath  the  power, 
To  make  vs  will,  when  we  vnwilling  bee." 


How  the  Soul  exercises  its  Powers  i6y 

The  last  faculty  or  power  with  which  the  poet 
deals,  is  the    intellectual  memory.     It  may  seem 
singular  to  follow  the  analysis  and  description  of 
wit  and  will  —  the  highest  powers  of  the  soul,  — 
with  a  brief  notice  and    description    of  another 
power.     But   there    is    a    kind    of  logical    order    ; 
observed   here.     He    has    already    described    the    j 
sensitive   memory,   which   is   the  "  lidger-booke " 
of  sense.     But  there  is  also  a  "  lidger-booke  "  of  i 
wit  and  will  —  a  storehouse  for  their  products  — 
"  all  arts  and  generall  reasons."     This  intellectual 
memory  is  immortal.     Its  records  survive  death. 
No  "  Lethoean  flood  "  can  wash  them  away:  — 

"  To  these  high  powers,  a  store-house  doth  pertaine, 
Where  they  all  arts  and  generall  reasons  lay  ; 
Which  in  the  Soule,  euen  after  death,  remaine, 
And  no  Lethoean  flood  can  wash  away." 

Thus  a  survey  of  the  human  mind  reveals  a  di- 
versity of  powers,  each  one  having  its  own  proper 
function  or  office,  and  one  exceeding  "  another  ini 
degree."  But  notwithstanding  this  diversity  of] 
powers  —  these  differences  in  function  and  degreei 
—  they  sustain  a  mutual  dependence.  The  wit  ofl 
man  is  given  him  for  the  purpose  of  knowing 
Almighty  God.  His  will  is  given  him  for  the] 
purpose   of  loving  God,  being  known.     But  thej 


1 68  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

human  mind  could  not  know  God  save  by  His 
works,  and  these  can  only  be  revealed  through 
sense.  So  that  wit  and  will  are  dependent  on 
sense.  Again,  sense  in  turn  is  dependent  upon  a 
lower  power,  the  quickening  power.  This  feeds  or 
nourishes  the  power  of  sense.  And  so  it  is,  as  we 
have  already  seen,  that  the  lower  powers  are  also 
dependent  upon  the  higher.  And  it  is  as  men 
actually  evaluate  these  powers  in  their  living,  that 
they  are  high  or  low  in  the  scale  of  human  life. 

Finally,  there  is  one  more  point  to  be  noted. 
The  three  powers  —  sense,  wit,  and  will,  —  al- 
though spoken  of  as  powers,  must  not  be  regarded 
as  distinct  entities  or  agents.  That  is,  they  are 
not  three  souls.  They  constitute  but  one  soul. 
They  are  three  modes  of  the  one  soul's  functioning 
— three  fundamental  forms  of  the  soul's  activity. 

This  ends  the  account  of  how  the  soul  exercises 
its  powers  in  the  body,  in  which  account  Davies 
also  presents  to  the  reader  his  analysis  and  de- 
scription of  the  various  powers  of  the  mind,  and 
his  conception  of  their  mutual  relations.  After 
thus  surveying  the  whole  field  of  the  mind's 
activities,  he  is  so  overcome  with  the  marvellous 
constitution  of  man  that  he  breaks  forth  with  the 
acclamation :  — 


How  the  Soul  exercises  its  Powers  i6g 

••  O  !  what  is  Man  (great  Maker  of  mankind  !) 

That  Tliou  to  him  so  great  respect  dost  beare  ! 
That  Thou  adornst  him  with  so  bright  a  mind, 
Mak'st  him  a  king,  and  euen  an  angel's  peere  ! 

"  O  !  what  a  liuely  life,  what  heauenly  power, 

What  spreading  vertue,  what  a  sparkling  fire! 
How  great,  how  plentifull,  how  rich  a  dower 
Dost  Thou  within  this  dying  flesh  inspire  ! 

"  Thou  leau'st  Thy  print  in  other  works  of  Thine, 
But  Thy  whole  image  Thou  in  Man  hast  writ; 
There  cannot  be  a  creature  more  diuine. 
Except  (like  Thee)  it  should  be  infinit. 

♦♦  But  it  exceeds  man's  thought,  to  thinke  how  hie 
Goii\\:ii\\  raisd  Man,  since  God  a  man  became  ; 
The  angels  doe  admire  this  Afisterie, 
And  are  astonisht  when  they  view  the  same." 


Davies's  analysis  of  the  powers  of  the  mind 
is,  fundamentally  considered,  Aristotelian.  In  the 
first  place,  with  both  writers  the  real  soul  of  man 
is  independent  of  the  body,  and  is  distinguished 
from  the  soul  as  possessing  certain  powers  by 
virtue  of  its  connection  with  the  body  —  which 
forms  the  "  animal  soul  "  as  Aristotle  calls  it.  The 
higher  soul  of  man  Aristotle  calls  vov'i,  and  the 
active  vov<i  (as  distinguished  from  the  passive) 
corresponds  to  the  higher  soul  of  man  as  con- 
ceived  of  by  Davies,  —  the  soul  as  possessed  of 


lyo  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

*'  wit  and  will."  In  discussing  the  relation  of 
Reason  to  the  other  "  faculties,"  Aristotle  says : 
"  This  consideration  shews  how  improbable  it  is 
that  reason  should  be  incorporated  with  the  bodily 
organism:  for  if  so,  it  would  be  of  some  definite 
character,  cither  hot  or  cold,  or  it  would  have 
some  organ  for  its  operation,  just  as  is  the  case 
with  sense."  .  .  . 

"  The  difference,  however,  between  the  impas- 
sivity of  the  faculty  of  reason  and  of  the  faculty  of 
sense  is  clear  from  a  consideration  of  the  organs 
and  the  processes  of  sense-perception.  Sense, 
for  example,  is  unable  to  acquire  perception  from 
an  object  which  is  in  too  great  excess  —  can- 
not, to  take  an  instance,  perceive  sound  from  ex- 
tremely loud  noises,  nor  see  nor  smell  anything 
from  too  violent  colours  and  odours.  Reason,  on 
the  contrary,  when  it  applies  itself  to  something 
extremely  intellectual,  does  not  lessen  but  rather 
increases  its  power  of  thinking  inferior  objects,  the 
explanation  being  that  the  faculty  of  sense  is  not 
independent  of  the  body,  whereas  reason  is  sepa- 
rated from  it."  ^ 

So  Davies  affirms  the  independence  of  the  soul. 

»  Op.  cit.,  bk.  III.  ch.  iv.  sees.  4,  5.     See  also  Bk.  II.  ch.  ii. 
sees.  4-10. 


How  the  Soul  exercises  its  Powers  lyi 

The  soul  as  "  wit "  and  "  will "  is  in  a  sense  really 
independent  of  the  body :  — 

"  These  actions  in  her  closet  all  alone, 

(Retir'd  within  her  selfe)  she  doth  fulfill ; 
Vse  of  her  bodie's  organs  she  hath  none, 
When  she  doth  vse  the  powers  of  Wit  and  Will." 

In  the  second  place,  both  writers  agree  in  regard 
to  the  general  powers  of  the  soul.  They  are  five 
in  number.  Aristotle  says :  "  Of  the  powers  of 
soul  which  have  been  mentioned,  some  organ- 
isms, as  has  been  said,  possess  all,  others  again  a 
few,  while  a  third  class  possesses  one  only.  The 
powers  in  question  are  those  of  nutrition,  of 
sensation,  of  desire,  of  local  movement  and  of 
reasoning."^ 

So  Davies  says :  — 

*'  And  though  this  spirit  be  to  the  body  knit, 
As  an  apt  meane  her  powers  to  exercise ; 
Which  are  life,  viotion,  sense,  and  will,  and  «///, 
Yet  she  suruiiies,  although  the  body  dies.'* 

Aristotle  speaks  also  of  the  powers  as  four  in 
number,  evidently  regarding  desire  and  local  move- 
ment as  representing  conation.^  Davies,  also, 
sometimes  speaks  of  them  as  four;  namely, 
vegetative  power,  sense,  wit,  and  will,  as  will  be 
1  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  II.  ch.  ilL  sec.  i.  «  Ibid.,  sec.  7. 


172  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

apparent  in  a  moment  in  his  description  of  the 
relation  of  the  powers. 

In  the  third  place,  both  writers  agree  in  recog- 
nizing the  intimate  relation  existing  between  these 
powers.  Aristotle  makes  the  lower  potentially- 
existent  in  the  higher.  Davics  speaks  of  the  lower 
as  ministering  to  the  higher.  Aristotle  says: 
"  The  different  forms  of  soul  in  fact  stand  to  one 
another  in  the  same  way  as  do  the  several  species 
of  figure:  both  in  the  case  of  figures  and  of  ani- 
mate beings,  the  earlier  form  always  exists  poten- 
tially in  the  later."  ^ 

Davies  in  describing  the  relation  of  these  powers 
says : — 

"  Our  Wit  is  giuen.  Almighty  God  io  know; 
Our  W^;7/ is  giuen  to  loue  Him,  ht'xngJi-nowtie; 
But  God  could  not  be  known  to  vs  below, 
But  by  His  workes  which  through  the  sense  are  shown. 

"  And  as  the  Wit  doth  reape  the  fruits  of  Sense, 
So  doth  the  quickning  power  the  senses  feed ; 
Thus  while  they  doe  their  sundry  gifts  dispence, 
The  best,  the  seruice  of  the  least  doth  need. 

"Euen  so  the  King  his  Magistrates  do  serue, 
Yet  Commons  feed  both  magistrate  and  king  ; 
The  Commons'  peace  the  magistrates  preserue 
By  borrowed  power,  which  from  the  Prince  doth  spring. 

*  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  II.  ch.  iii.  sees.  6,  7. 


How  the  Soul  exercises  its  Powers         ly^ 

"  The  quicknini^  power  would  be,  and  so  would  rest ; 
The  Sense  would  not  be  onely,  but  be  well; 
But  Wifs  ambition  longeth  to  the  best^ 
For  it  desires  in  endlesse  blisse  to  dwell." 

In  the  fourth  place,  both  writers  in  their  analysis 
of  the  powers  of  the  soul  are  careful  to  emphasize 
the  unity  of  the  soul.  Aristotle,  although  speak- 
ing sometimes  of  the  various  powers  of  the  soul  as 
though  they  were  souls,  does  not  mean  this.  He 
teaches  rather  that  they  are  really  modes  or  as- 
pects of  the  one  soul's  functioning.  This  is  a 
fundamental  implication  of  his  teaching  concern- 
ing the  relation  of  the  powers.^ 

Likewise,  Davies,  closing  his  discussion  of  the 
relation  of  reason,  sense,  and  the  vegetative  power, 
says : — 

"  Yet  these  three  powers  are  not  three  soules,  but  one; 
As  one  and  two  are  both  containd  in  three 
Three  being  one  number  by  it  selfe  alone  : 
A  shadow  of  the  blessed  Trinitie." 

In  Davies's  more  detailed  analysis  of  the  mental 
"  faculties  "  he  deviates  somewhat  from  Aristotle. 
This  may  be  an  original  element  introduced  here, 
or  it  may  be  an  introduction  of  a  small  element  of 
contemporary  psychology. 

Several  points  worthy  of  note  in  connection 
1  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  II.  ch.  ui. 


174  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

with  Davies's  analysis  and  description  of  the  men- 
tal powers,  pertain  to  his  relation  to  Nemesius. 
First,  the  latter  teaches  Aristotle's  doctrine  of  the 
vegetative  power,  or  the  power  of  nutrition,  be- 
longing to  the  soul.     Davies,  as  we  have  seen,  also 
recognizes  this  power,  and  his  description   of  its 
method  of  working  is  so  like  that   of  Nemesius 
as   to    indicate   that  he    was   influenced    by   him. 
Nemesius  says :  "  All  the  naturall  faculties  of  the 
!    nourishing  power,   are  these   foure ;   an  attractive 
I   appetite ,  a  retentive  power ,  a  distributing,  and  an 
I   expulsive  (or  avoiding) /i/r////'/V.'  for  every  part  of 
!   the  living-creature,  doth  naturally  draw  unto  it- 
f  selfe  such  nourishment,  as  is  convenient   for  the 
:  same :  when  it  is  attracted,  it  preserveth  it :  when 
I  the  same  is  kept  a  due  time,  it  changeth  the  same 
)  into  it  selfe  ;  and  then  expelleth  whatsoever  proveth 
;  to  be  superfluous."^ 

'       In  similar  language  Davies  describes  the  func- 
,  tioning  of  this  power.     He,  too,  attributes  to  it 
the  offices  of  attracting,  retaining,  distributing,  and 
,  expelling:  — 

ji  "//^r  quick' nittf^  power  in  euery  liuing  part, 

I  Doth  as  a  nurse,  or  as  a  mother  serue  ; 

j  And  doth  employ  her  oeconomicke  art, 

\  And  busie  care,  her  household  to  prescrue. 

1  Op.  cit.,  pp.  397-398- 


How  the  Soul  exercises  its  Powers         ij^ 

"  Here  she  attracts,  and  there  she  doth  retaine, 
There  she  decocts,  and  doth  the  food  prepare ; 
There  she  distributes  it  to  euery  vaine, 
Here  she  expels  what  she  may  filly  spare." 

Of  course,  it  must  be  remembered  that  when 
two  writers  agree  in  regard  to  the  functioning  of 
a  power  or  agent,  their  language  must  necessarily 
be  similar.  }3ut  the  language  and  its  content  are 
so  strikingly  similar  here  as  to  indicate,  especially 
in  view  of  the  evidence  already  presented,  that 
Davies  was  influenced  by  Nemesius.  Second, 
an  instance  similar  to  the  above  is  found  in 
the  description  given  by  both  writers  of  the 
source  of  the  "vital  spirits."  Nemesius  says: 
"  Because  the  vitall-spirit  is  dispersed  from  the 
heart  by  the  arteries,  into  every  part  of  the 
bociyr » 

Davies,  in  discussing  the  "  Motion  of  Life,"  in 
connection  with  his  analysis  of  the  mental  pow- 
ers, thinks  and  speaks  of  the  vital  spirits  as  does 
Nemesius:  — 

"  Besides,  another  motiue-^o'^tx  doth  rise 

Out  of  the  heart ;  from  whose  pure  blood  do  spring 
The  vitall  spirits ;  which,  borne  in  arteries, 
Continuall  motion  to  all  parts  doe  bring." 

1  Op.  cit.,  p.  408. 


/  76  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

They  agree  in  recognizing  the  existence  of  vital 
spirits ;  also  in  regard  to  their  seat,  their  course, 
and  their  destination. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  also  in  this  connection 
Calvin's  analysis  of  the  niental  powers  with  which, 
if  our  view  of  Davies's  indebtedness  to  Calvin  be 
correct,  he  must  have  been  familiar.  It  is  briefly 
given  in  the  following  passage:  "First,  I  admit 
that  there  are  five  senses,  which  Plato  (in  The- 
aeteto)  prefers  calling  organs,  by  which  all  ob- 
jects are  brought  into  a  common  sensorium,  as 
into  a  kind  of  receptacle :  Next  comes  the  imagi- 
nation, (^pliantasie),  which  distinguishes  between 
the  objects  brought  into  the  sensorium :  Next, 
reason,  to  which  the  general  power  of  judgment 
belongs:  And,  lastly,  intellect,  which  contemplates 
with  fixed  and  quiet  look  whatever  reason  discur- 
sively revolves.  In  like  manner,  to  intellect,  fancy, 
and  reason,  the  three  cognitive  faculties  of  the 
soul,  correspond  three  appetitive  faculties,  viz., 
will,  whose  office  is  to  choose  whatever  reason  and 
intellect  propounds;  irascibility,  which  seizes  on 
what  is  set  before  it  by  reason  and  fancy;  and 
concupiscence,  which  lays  hold  of  the  objects  pre- 
sented by  sense  and  fancy."* 

1  Op.  cit.,  lik.  I.  ch.  XV.  sec.  6. 


How  the  Soul  exercises  its  Powers  177 

There  is,  of  course,  only  a  general  correspond- 
ence between  Davies's  analysis  of  the  various 
"  faculties  "  of  the  soul  and  Calvin's,  which  would 
hardly  indicate  anything  with  reference  to  Calvin's 
influence,  upon  Davies.  But  in  Davies's  account 
of  the  function  of  reason  in  the  determination  of 
truth  and  goodness,  and  the  handicap  under  which 
she  labors  by  virtue  of  man's  Fall ;  and  also  in  his 
account  of  the  relation  between  reason  and  will  as 
that  of  Ruler  and  Guide,  there  is  much  that  in- 
dicates the  influence  of  Calvin.^ 

As  indicating  the  position  which  Davies's  two- 
fold division  of  the  powers  of  the  real  soul  of  man 
as  "  wit  and  will  "  holds  in  the  history  of  psy- 
chology the  following  brief  statement  by  Sully  is 
substantially  true,  —  only  we  can  hardly  say  that 
the  threefold  division  has  been  "  fixed  as  the  per- 
manent one":  "The  first  essay  in  distinguishing 
between  co-ordinate  mental  functions  led  to  a 
bipartite  or  dichotomus  division,  viz.,  into  an  in- 
tellective and  an  active  or  conative  factor.  The 
germ  of  this  bisectional  view  may  be  found  in 
Aristotle,  who,  while  he  gave  independent  func- 
tional value    to    intellect   or   thought    (vovs:)    and 

^  Cf.  Calvin,  op.  cit.,  Bk.  I.  ch.  xv.  sees.  6-8;  also  Bk.  II. 
ch.  ii.  sees.  12-26. 

12 


/  78  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

to  desire  or  appetite  (ppe^isi),  subordinated  feel- 
ing to  these.  This  twofold  scheme  remained  the 
prevailing  one  up  to  comparatively  recent  times. 
It  survives  in  the  classification  of  Reid,  vis.^ 
(i)  Intellectual  and  (2)  Active  Powers,  and  in  the 
popular  psychology  of  everyday  life.  The  sepa- 
rate recognition  of  feeling  as  a  co-ordinate  phase 
or  function  of  mind  is  due  to  the  German  psy- 
chologists of  the  Wolffian  school  who  wrote  about 
the  middle  of  the  last  century,  more  especially 
Moses  Mendelssohn  and  Tetens.  The  tripartite 
division  was  adopted  from  these  by  Kant,  and  by 
his  authority  fixed  as  the  permanent  one. "  ^ 

1  "The  Human  Mind."     New  York,  1892,  Vol.  II.,  Appendix 
A.  p.  327. 


CHAPTER  X 
IMMORTALITY   OF  THE  SOUL 

T  TAVING  covered  so  much  of  the  territory  of 
"*"  the  philosophy  of  mind,  there  still  remains 
another  portion  to  be  traversed.  The  poet  has 
considered  the  problems  of  the  Whence  and  the 
What  of  mind ;  he  must  now  consider  the  Whither. 
He  has  attempted  to  determine  its  origin  and  na- 
ture; he  must  now  determine,  if  possible,  its  des- 
tiny. Is  the  mind  a  mere  creature  of  time,  or 
does  it  bear  the  impress  of  eternity?  In  our  poet's 
judgment  the  soul  is  immortal,  and  he  proceeds,  in 
the  most  formal  manner,  to  give  reasons  for  the 
faith  within  him  on  this  most  important  question. 

Referring  to  the  wonderful  powers  of  mind  re- 
vealed* by  his  psychological  analysis,  he  says :  — 

•*  Nor  hath  He  giuen  these  blessings  for  a  day, 
Nor  made  them  on  the  bodie's  life  depend  ; 
The  Soule  though  made  in  time,  suruives  for  aye^ 
And  though  it  hath  beginning,  sees  no  end. 


i8o  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

"  Her  only  en(/,  is  neuer-ending  blisse  ; 
Which  is,  M'  eternall  face  of  God  to  see ; 
Who  Last  of  Ends,  and  First  of  Causes,  is : 
And  to  doe  this,  she  must  eternall  bee." 

This  eternity  of  the  soul  will  be  manifest  to  any 
one  who  will  patiently  study  its  nature.  In  its 
very  constitution,  and  in  some  of  its  fundamen- 
tal modes  of  behavior,  he  will  discern  its  im- 
mortality. 

Having  thus  stated  his  thesis,  and  hinted  at  the 
method  of  procedure  by  which  it  is  to  be  estab- 
lished, he  presents  the  ground  for  its  acceptance 
in  the  form  of  a  series  of  "  Reasons  " :  — 

Reason  I.,  is  based  on  man's  desire  for  knowl- 
edge —  a  desire  to  "  know  the  truth  of  euery  thing  " 
—  which  is  native  to  the  human  soul.  It  is  co- 
natural  with  the  soul,  —  to  use  the  poet's  own  ex- 
pression. It  is  born  with  it,  and  springs  from  its 
very  essence.  Going  with  this  native  desire  to 
know,  is  also  a  native  might  to  discover  the  truth 
of  everything,  were  sufficient  time  allowed  to  the 
soul.  But  this  mortal  life  is  too  short  for  the  ac- 
complishment of  such  a  task.  Our  little  life  passes 
away  as  rapidly  — 

"As  doth  a  hungry  eagle  through  the  wind, 
Or  as  a  ship  transported  with  the  tide." 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  t8i 

So  much  of  this  short  time  is  engaged  with  the 
few  things  revealed  by  sense,  as  to  be  really  at 
an  end  — 

"  Ere  we  the  principles  of  skill  attaine." 

Here  we  hardly  attain  more  than  the  alphabet  of 
knowledge.  Now  God,  who  creates  nothing  in 
vain,  has  either  given  us  this  native  appetite  for 
perfect  knowledge  in  vain,  or  our  knowledge  is  to 
be  perfected  in  another  life.  God  never  gave  a 
power  to  an  entire  species  but  that  the  majority  of 
the  species  made  use  of  such  power.  But  it  is  not 
so  with  the  human  species.  He  has  endowed  it 
with  a  native  desire  and  might  to  know  the  truth 
perfectly,  but  not  one  member  of  the  species  can 
in  this  mortal  life  thus  know  the  truth.  Hence  we 
must  conclude  with  reference  to  the  soul's  knowl- 
edge, that  if — 

"perfection  be  not  found  below, 
An  higher  place  must  make  her  mount  thereto.* 

Reason  H.,  is  based  on  what  the  poet  calls  the 
motion  of  the  soul.  The  soul  with  its  powers  of 
wit  and  will  aspires  to  eternity.  Since  it  aspires 
to  the  eternal  God,  it  must  be  an  eternal  thing. 
All  moving  things  move  toward  their  kind.  The 
river,  whose  water  was  first  derived  from  the  sea, 


1 82  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

ultimately,  after  moving  here  and  there,  by  various 
windings  through  the  land,  again  moves  toward 
the  sea.  And  thus  it  is  with  the  soul  of  man.  It 
comes  from  God.  If  pursues  earthly  things.  It 
moves  here  and  there,  seeking  contentment  among 
things  temporal.  But  it  is  not  satisfied  with  what 
it  finds  and  turns  to  things  eternal :  — 

"  Then  as  a  d^g  which  among  weeds  doth  fall, 

Which  seeme  sweet  flowers,  with  lustre  fresh  and  gay ; 

She  lights  on  that,  and  this,  and  tasteth  all, 

But  pleasd  with  none,  doth  rise,  and  soare  away; 

"  So,  when  the  Sou/e  finds  here  no  true  content, 
And,  like  Noah's  doue,  can  no  sure  footing  take ; 
She  doth  returne  from  whence  she  first  was  sent. 
And  flies  to  Him  that  first  her  wings  did  make." 

That  man  thus  moves  towards  God,  and  is  thus 
like  God  in  his  Eternity,  is  manifest  in  the  move- 
ments of  his  reason  and  will.  The  rational  nature 
of  man  seeks  truth.  It  ascends  from  cause  to 
cause,  and  does  not  rest  until  it  reaches  the  First 
Cause.  It  is  so  also  with  will.  It  seeks  the  Good. 
In  its  pursuit  of  the  same  it  finds  many  subordi- 
nate ends  or  goods.  But  these  do  not  satisfy. 
The  will  cannot  rest  in  them.  It  seeks  a  supreme 
good,  a  summum  bouiim.  Now  God  is  the  Ulti- 
mate Truth  or  First  Cause;  and  He  is  also  the 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  i8j 

Ultimate  End  or  Supreme  Good.  He  is  the  Alpha 
to  reason,  and  the  Omega  to  will.  In  this  move- 
ment of  the  soul,  in  its  two  fundamental  modes 
of  action,  it  betrays  its  heavenly  origin  and 
destiny. 

Reason  III.,  is  based  on  the  contempt  for  death 
manifested  by  superior  souls.  Such  souls  desire 
the  satisfactions  of  the  immortal  life,  and  they 
often  experience  contempt  for  the  death  of  the 
body.  This  is  really  due  to  the  immortal  nature 
of  the  soul.  For,  if  the  death  of  the  body  in- 
volved the  soul's  destruction,  it  would  mean  that 
death  is  the  enemy  of  the  soul,  —  that  is,  against 
its  essential  nature.  And  were  this  so,  all  souls 
would  flee  from  death.  For  the  soul,  like  all 
things,  is  taught  by  its  nature  the  lesson  of  self- 
preservation.  The  instinct  of  self-preservation, 
under  such  circumstances,  would  lead  all  souls 
to  avoid  death  as  far  as  possible.  This  being  so, 
the  choice  spirits  of  the  world  could  not  err  sOj 
far  as  to  prefer  honor  to  life :  — 

"  For  what  is  praise  to  things  that  nothing  bee  ?  " 

Furthermore,  were  the  life  of  the  soul  dependent] 
upon  the  body,  then  the  soul  would  only  seek  the! 
body's  good.  There  would  be  no  sacrifice  of] 
physical  or  bodily  good  for  higher  ends :  — 


t84  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

"  We  should  not  find  her  half  so  braue  and  bold, 
To  leade  it  to  the  Warres  and  to  the  seas ; 
To  make  it  suffer  watchings,  hunger,  cold. 
When  it  might  feed  with  plenty,  rest  with  ease." 

Reason  IV.,  is  founded  on  the  fear  of  death  in 
wicked  souls.  Such  fear  proves  the  immortal 
nature  of  him  who  experiences  it.  For  it  is  not 
annihilation  that  such  souls  fear.  Rather  would 
they  welcome  this.     But  it  is,  as  Hamlet  put  it,  — 

"  the  dread  of  something  after  death 
.     .     .    puzzles  the  will. 

Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all." 

Now  this  testimony  of  both  good  and  evil  souls 
to  the  soul's  immortality,  as  explained  above,  is, 
according  to  the  poet.  Nature's  testimony;  — 

'^^ Nature's  speech^ 
Which,  like  God's  Oracle,  can  neuer  lie." 

Reason  V.,  is  based  on  the  general  desire  for 
immortality.  Davies  holds  the  position,  that  the 
desire  for  immortality  is  instinctive  with  man. 
Such  a  universal  desire  cannot  be  in  vain,  for 
Nature  does  not  covet  impossibilities.  Fond 
thoughts,  of  course,  may  be  cherished  by  some 
idle  brain,  which  do  not  involve  reality:  — 

"  But  one  assent  of  all,  is  euer  wise." 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  i8^ 

So  universal  a  desire  as  this  must  involve  a  reality 
to  satisfy  it.  From  this  desire  springs  the  prog- 
ress of  the  race — "that  generall  care  and  study," — 

"That  launching  znA  progression  of  the  mind; 
Which  all  men  haue  so  much,  of  future  things, 
That  they  no  ioy  doe  in  the  present  find." 

From  this  desire  for  immortality  also  springs 
man's  desire  for  gaining  surviving  fame, — 

"  By  iombes,  by  bookes^  by  memorable  deeds.** 

From  it  also  springs  the  care  for  posterity  which 
characterizes  man — 

"  For  things  their  kind  would  euerlasting  make." 

Hence  old  men  plant  trees  the  fruit  of  which  is 
to  be  enjoyed  by  another  age. 

If  we  reflect  upon  these  things,  and  apply  them 
to  ourselves,  we  shall  find  that  they  are  Nature's 
true  notes  of  immortality. 

Reason  VI.,  is  based  upon  the  fact  of  doubt 
and  dispute  concerning  immortality.  To  doubt 
immortality  shows  that  we  know  immortal  things. 
To  reason  about  immortality  would  be  impossible 
were  man  merely  mortal.  To  judge  of  immortal 
things  involves  the  immortal  nature  of  the  judging 
mind :  — 


1 86  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

"  For  when  we  iudge,  our  minds  we  mirrors  make: 
And  as  those  glasses  which  materiall  bee, 
Formes  of  materiall  things  doe  onely  take, 
For  thoughts  or  minds  in  them  we  cannot  see; 

"So,  when  we  God  and  angels  do  conceiue. 
And  thinke  of  truth,  which  is  eternall  too  ; 
Then  doe  our  minds  immortall  formes  receiue, 
Which  if  they  mortall  were,  they  could  not  doo." 

If  animals  were  to  conceive  what  reason  is,  they 
would  necessarily  have  to  be  rational  beings.  So 
it  is  with  the  soul.  If  she  can  reason  about  im- 
mortality she  must  be  immortal.     So  that  — 

"  Shee  proofes  of  her  eternitie  doth  bring, 

Euen  when  she  striues  the  contrary  to  proue." 

The  poet  concludes,  that  even  this  very  thought 
of  immortality  is  an  act  of  the  self-moving  mind, 
framed  by  the  mind  without  the  aid  of  the  body, 
and,  in  the  spirit  of  Plato  in  the  Phcedrtis,  he 
affirms  that  this  independence  of  mind  is  evi- 
dence that  she  can  survive  the  death  of  the  body. 
And  as  a  self-moving  being,  her  motion  must  be 
everlasting,  for  she  can  never  forsake  herself. 

But  some  misgivings  may  still  arise.  Although 
the  soul  may  be  free  from  any  corruption  spring- 
ing from  herself,  may  there  not  be  some  external 
cause,  designed  by  Fate,  that  ultimately  will  de- 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  187 

stroy  her?  So  that  the  poet  considers  these  mis- 
givings and  gives  reply. 

In  the  first  place,  perhaps  the  cause  of  the  soul 
itself  may  cease,  and  then  the  soul  must  die.  Not 
so,  says  the  poet.  For  God  is  her  Cause,  and 
His  Word  was  her  Maker,  and  this  shall  stand 
forever  —  when  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  like 
a  shadow.  . 

But  there  may  be  something  strongly  antipa- 
thetic to  the  soul  that  shall  ultimately  destroy  her. 
But  how  can  there  be  such  a  contrary  to  the 
soul  — 

"  Which  holds  all  contraries  in  concord  still  ? 

"  She  lodgeth  heat,  and  cold,  and  moist,  and  dry, 

And  life,  and  death,  and  peace,  and  war  together; 
Ten  thousand  fighting  things  in  her  doe  lye, 
Yet  neither  troubleth,  or  disturbeth  either." 

Still,  it  may  be  urged,  she  may  die  for  want  of 
food.  Not  so,  says  the  poet.  Not  only  all  things, 
but  the  Eternal  God  himself,  as  well  as  Eternal 
Truth,  constitute  her  food. 

Perhaps,  however,  violence  can  destroy  her,  as 
*'  su7i-beames  dim  the  sight,"  or  as  a  thunder-clap 
or  noise  of  cannon  affects  the  ear.  No,  says  the 
poet,  on  the  contrary,  the  soul  is  perfected  by 
encountering  "  things   most  excellent   and  high."   - 


iS8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Furthermore,  the  soul  is  so  subtle  as  to  glide 
safely  through  all  dangers ;  and  the  will  is  so  free 
as  not  to  abide  any  force. 

But,  after  all,  may  not  Time,  the  great  destroyer 
of  things,  destroy  the  soul  ?  No,  says  the  poet, 
Time  only  cherishes  her  and  increases  her  might. 
Time  gives  perfection  to  the  soul,  and  adds  new 
lustre  to  her  beauty,  and  makes  her  to  dwell  in 
eternal  youth.  The  more  the  soul  lives,  "  the 
more  she  feeds  on  Truth"  and  the  more  she  thus 
feeds,  the  more  strength  she  derives;  and  strength 
is  the  effect  of  youth,  which  if  nursed  by  Time, 
how  can  it  cease?  The  poet's  reply  to  this  mis- 
giving, which  grows  out  of  the  consciousness  of 
the  destructive  nature  of  Time,  is  eloquent  almost 
to  the  point  of  sublimity :  — 

"  But  lastly,  Time  perhaps  at  last  hath  power 

To  spend  her  liuely  powers,  and  quench  her  light ; 
But  old  god  Saturne  which  doth  all  deuoure, 
Doth  cherish  her,  and  still  augment  her  might. 

"  Heauen  waxeth  old,  and  all  the  spheres  aboue 
Shall  one  day  faint,  and  their  swift  motion  stay; 
And  Time  it  selfe  in  time  shall  cease  to  moue ; 
Onely  the  Soule  suruives^  and  liues  for  aye. 

"  Our  Bodies,  euery  footstep  tiiat  they  make, 
March  towards  death,  vntill  at  last  they  die  ; 
Whether  we  worke,  or  play,  or  sleepe,  or  wake, 
Our  life  doth  passe,  and  with  Time's  wings  doth  flie: 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  j8p 

"  But  to  the  Sou/t  Time  doth  perfection  giue, 
And  ads  fresh  lustre  to  her  beauty  still ; 
And  makes  her  in  eternall  youth  to  liue, 
Like  her  which  nectar  to  the  gods  doth  fill. 

'•  The  more  she  Hues,  the  more  she  feeds  on  Truth  ; 

The  more  she  feeds,  her  strength  doth  more  increase: 
And  what  is  strength^  but  an  effect  oi youth  f 
Which  if  Time  nurse,  how  can  it  euer  cease  ?" 

Thus  far  Davies,  in  his  reflection  upon  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul,  has  considered  the  grounds 
for  belief  in  immortality,  and  also  several  mis- 
givings which  may  arise  even  in  the  face  of  this 
rational  evidence.  But  he  feels  that  his  treatment 
of  this  subject  would  be  inadequate,  did  he  not 
consider  certain  objections  which  may  be  urged 
against  his  position.  In  the  consideration  of  these 
objections  he  proceeds  as  formally  as  before,  stat- 
ing first  the  objection  candidly  and  clearly,  and 
then  following  in  a  formal  manner  with  his  answer. 
In  his  answer  he  endeavors  not  only  to  refute  the 
objection,  but  also  to  strengthen  the  arguments 
previously  presented  by  him  in  favor  of  belief. 

Objection  I.,  is  based  on  the  fact  that  the  soul 
grows  old.  This  is  manifest  in  the  dotage  of  old 
men;  and  in  the  sottishness,  dulness,  and  cold- 
ness of  their  brains.  It  is  based  further  on  the 
fact  that  the  soul  itself  seems  to  be  corrupted, 
which  is  evident  in  idiocy  and  insanity. 


I  go  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

To  this  objection  the  poet  replies,  that  it  con- 
stitutes a  subtle  argument  to  those  who  identify 
sense  and  reason,  and  fail  to  distinguish  agent 
from  instrument,  and  the  working  power  from  the 
work.  But  to  those  who  distinguish  between  sense 
and  reason,  and  understand  the  relations  between 
them,  both  idiocy  and  dotage  are  explicable  in 
a  manner  which  does  not  involve  the  integrity  of 
the  soul.  As  has  been  previously  explained,  there 
is  a  kind  of  dependence  of  reason  upon  sense  in 
our  knowledge  of  things.  The  soul  united  to  the 
body  is  dependent  upon  sense  for  its  materials, 
and  if  the  region  of  the  brain,  where  both  the 
outward  sense  and  the  inward  sense  of  fantasie 
are  localized,  be  wanting  in  integrity,  so  as  to  fail 
to  report  things ;  or,  reporting  them,  report  them 
incorrectly,  then,  of  course,  the  soul  is  cither  blind 
or  misled.  This  explains  idiocy.  The  trouble  is 
not  with  the  mind  of  the  idiot.  It  is  capable  of 
knowing  the  truth  and  choosing  the  good  when 
these  arc  properly  presented  by  sense  and  fan- 
tasie.    The  difficulty  lies  in  the  fact  that  — 

'•  that  region  of  the  tender  braine, 
Where  th'  inward  sense  of  Fantasie  should  sit. 
And  the  outward  senses  gatherings  should  retain," 

has  cither  — 

"  By  Nature,  or  by  chance,  become  vnfit " 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  igi 

to  perform  its  office.  Remove  this  trouble;  re- 
store the  integrity  of  this  "  region  of  the  tender 
braine,"  — 

"  Then  shall  the  Wit,  which  never  had  disease, 
Discourse,  and  iudge  discreetly,  as  it  ought" 

The  defect  then  is  in  the  organs  of  sense,  and  not 
in  the  soul;  in  the  instrument,  and  not  in  the 
agent;  and  — 

"  We  must  not  blame  Apollo,  but  his  lute. 
If  false  accords  from  her  false  strings  be  sent." 

Dotage  may  be  explained  in  a  similar  manner. 
The  trouble  is  not  with  the  dotard's  soul,  but  with 
his  power  of  sense,  which  has  been  so  weakened 
by  age  that  it  — 

"  Cannot  the  prints  of  outward  things  retaine." 

The  soul,  therefore,  sits  idle.  This  is  what  we 
call  childishness  and  dotage.  But,  were  the  old 
man  possessed  of  the  young  man's  power  of  sense, 
there  would  be  a  different  result.  The  soul  would 
then  function  properly.  Dotage,  then,  must  not  be 
regarded  as  a  weakness  of  the  mind,  but  rather  a 
weakness  of  sense.  If  it  were  a  waste  of  the  for- 
mer, it  would  be  found  in  all  old  men.  But  such 
is  not  the  case.  The  majority  of  them,  despite 
the  gradually  wasting  body,  retain  a  quicker  and 


/92  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

stronger  mind,  and  a  better  use  of  their  underr 
standing,  than  when  they  were  possessed  of  the 
bodily  power  of  youth. 

Objection  II.,  is  based  on  the  supposition,  that 
if  the  soul's  organs  die  she  will  not  be  able  to  use 
her  powers.  Such  inability  to  use  her  powers 
practically  amounts  to  their  extinction.  Deprived 
of  her  powers,  what  then  is  the  soul  ?  Every- 
thing is  possessed  of  power,  and  acts  spring  from 
powers.  Destroy  the  powers  and  acts,  and  you 
destroy  the  thing. 

To  this  objection  Davies  makes  reply:  It  is 
undoubtedly  true  that  death  destroys  "  the  instru- 
ments of  sense  and  life,"  although  the  root  of 
these  remain  in  the  substance  of  the  soul.  But 
just  as  wit  and  will,  during  the  mind's  union  with 
the  body,  can  judge  and  choose  without  its  aid, 
though  using  the  materials  which  are  derived  by 
means  of  the  body's  organs,  so,  after  the  body's 
destruction  and  the  extinction  of  sense,  the  soul  — 

"  can  discourse  of  what  she  learn'd  before, 
In  heaunly  contemplations,  all  alone." 

That  is,  the  soul  after  the  death  of  the  body  can 
exercise  her  fundamental  powers  on  what  she 
acquired  during  her  union  with  the  body.  To  this 
statement  Davies  adds  anot!ier,  based  undoubtedly 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  ig^ 

on  belief  in  the  resurrection  of  the  body.  He 
says,  that  ultimately  these  organs  of  sense  which 
are  destroyed  by  death  will  be  revived  with  the 
revival  of  the  body,  and  will  perform  or  fulfil 
their  wonted  office.  And  this  leads  to  another 
objection. 

Objection  III.,  involves  the  question  as  to  how, 
in  the  interim, —  between  death  and  the  resurrec- 
tion, —  the  soul  is  to  employ  herself.  With  her 
power  of  sense  gone,  she  can  enjoy  what  she 
has  previously  acquired  and  retained  through  her 
relation  with  sense, — 

"  But  she  hath  meanes  to  vnderstand  no  more." 

And  what  about  those  poor  souls  who  really 
acquire  nothing  through  sense,  and  those  who 
acquire  but  do  not  retain?  Such  souls,  for  lack 
of  exercise,  must  sleep. 

To  this  objection  the  poet  replies  by  asking, 
why  man  should  not  have  other  means  of  knowing 
after  death,  just  as  children  after  birth  feed  by 
different  means  than  in  the  pre-natal  state?  Could 
they  in  their  mother's  womb  hear  from  her  that 
shortly  they  would  leave  their  native  home,  they 
would  fear  birth  as  much  as  we  fear  death.  They 
would  raise  the  question  as  to  how  they  were  to 

«3 


194  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

be  nourished  in  this  new  world.  But  could  some 
one  reply  to  their  question  by  informing  them  of 
the  wonders  of  sense  that  will  greet  them  in  their 
new  habitat,  and  of  the  "  ten  thousand  dainties " 
that  will  give  pleasure  to  the  sense  of  taste,  and 
nourish  the  body  and  cause  it  to  grow,  they  would 
regard  such  a  statement  as  fabulous.  Yet  they 
find  this  to  be  true  after  birth.  It  is  the  same 
with  the  soul  of  man ;  for  death  is  merely  the 
birth  of  the  soul.  Ten  thousand  things  await  its 
birth,  a  knowledge  of  which,  by  some  unknown 
method,  is  to  be  acquired:  — 

"  So,  when  the  Sou/e  is  borne  (for  Death  is  nought 
But  the  Soule^s  birth,  and  so  we  should  it  call) 
Ten  thousand  things  she  sees  beyond  her  thought, 
And  in  an  vnknowne  manner  knowes  them  all. 

♦•  Then  doth  she  see  by  spectacles  no  more, 
She  heares  not  by  report  of  double  spies  ; 
Her  sclfe  in  instants  doth  all  things  explore, 
'    For  each  thing  present,  and  before  her,  lies."  * 

Objection  IV.,  consists  of  the  old,  stereotyped 
question,  Why,  if  the  soul  survive  death,  do  not 

1  Does  not  Davies  contradict  himself  in  thus  eliminating  the 
work  of  sense  from  the  soul's  knowledge  after  death?  For  he 
has  previously  stated  with  reference  to  the  organs  of  sense  :  — 

"  Yet  with  the  body  they  shall  all  reuiue, 
And  all  their  wonted  offices,  fulfill" 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  ig^ 

departed  spirits  return,  and  give  us  news  of  that 
mysterious  world  beyond  the  grave?  As  Robert 
Blair  puts  it  in  his  poem  entitled  The  Grave  :  — 

"  Tell  us,  ye  dead,  will  none  of  you  in  pity, 

To  those  you  left  behind,  disclose  the  secret? 
Oh  !  that  some  courteous  ghost  would  blab  it  out ; 
What  'tis  you  are,  and  we  must  shortly  be."* 

Davies  in  reply  to  this  objection  wants  to  know 
why,  if  we  believe  that  men  live  — 

"  Vnder  the  Zenith  of  both  frozen  Poles," 

although  none  of  them  come  to  give  us  informa- 
tion, we  cannot  exercise  a  like  faith  concerning 
the  destiny  of  our  souls.  At  death  the  soul  is 
done  with  earth.  It  has  no  more  business  here 
than  we  have  in  our  mother's  womb.  And,  al- 
though all  children  have  come  from  thence,  what 
child  desires  to  return?  This  failure  of  departed 
souls  to  return  to  earth  shows  that  they  have 
reached  a  goodly  dwelling  place.  And,  doubt- 
less, souls  who  have  stood  in  the  presence  of  their 
Maker,  look  with  scorn  and  contempt  on  this  vile 
world.  And  those  condemned  to  hell,  probably 
for  shame,  or  because  of  impossibility,  do  not 
return. 

*  Quoted  from  Grosart's  ed.  of  Nosce  Teipsum. 


19^  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Objection  V.,  urges  that  politic  men  have  spread 
this  lie  of  heaven  and  hell  as  the  destiny  of  good 
and  evil  souls  to  make  men  virtuous. 

The  poet  answers,  that  those  who  urge  this 
objection  concede  the  value  of  virtue,  and  asks 
whether  they  have  no  other  way  of  preserving 
virtue  than  by  lying.  It  is  not  virtue  and  false- 
hood, but  rather  virtue  and  truth  which  best  agree, 
and  he  draws  the  conclusion,  that  since  the  effects 
of  this  doctrine  of  the  soul's  destiny  are  con- 
fessedly so  good,  and  virtue  and  truth  are  ever  in 
agreement,  it  must  be  true:  — 

"  For,  as  the  deuill  father  is  of  lies, 

So  vice  and  mischiefe  doe  his  Ives  ensue; 
Then  this  good  doctrine  did  not  he  deuise. 
But  made  this  fyf,  which  saith  it  is  not  true." 

Davies,  in  the  further  consideration  of  this 
objection,  again  falls  back  on  the  cotiseusus  gen- 
tium — "  the  general  consent  of  all."  How  can 
that  be  false  which  is  universally  conceded  or 
affirmed?  — 

*'  This  rich  Assyrian  druj;;ge  growes  euery  where; 
As  common  in  the  Norths  as  in  the  East j 
This  doctrine  does  not  enter  by  the  tare, 
i3ut  of  it  selfe  is  natiue  in  the  breast." 

Belief    in    immortality   is    essentially   a   universal 
phenomenon.     It    is   native   to    the    human    soul. 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  igj 

No  one,  says  our  poet,  who  believes  in  God,  or 
in  divine  providence,  doubts  it.  It  is  the  root  of 
all  religion,  and  no  nation  is  without  a  religion. 
Any  view  to  the  contrary  impeaches  the  wisdom 
and  goodness  of  God.  And  he  closes  the  discus- 
sion of  the  soul's  immortality  by  reaffirming  his 
belief:  — 

•'  But  blest  be  that  Great  Power,  that  hath  vs  blest 
With  longer  life  then  Heauen  or  Earth  can  haue 
Which  hath  infus'd  into  our  mortall  breast 
Immortal  powers,  not  subiect  to  the  graue. 

"  For  though  the  Soule  doe  seeme  her  graue  to  beare, 
And  in  this  world  is  almost  buried  quick; 
We  haue  no  cause  the  bodie's  death  to  feare, 
For  when  the  shell  is  broke,  out  comes  a  chick."  > 

There  is  one  more  subject  which  the  poet  briefly 
touches  upon  before  he  closes  his  reflective  study 
of  the  human  mind.  He  affirms  that  there  are 
three  kinds  of  life  which  answer  to  the  three  es- 
sential powers  of  the  soul.  These  three  essen- 
tial powers  are,  the  quickening  power,  the  power 
of  sense,  and  the  power  of  reason.  There  are 
three  kinds  of  life  which  are  designed  to  perfect 

*  Tennyson,  arguing  in  favor  of  belief  in  immortality,  in  The 
Ancient  Sage,  says :  — 

"  The  shell  must  break  before  the  bird  can  fly." 


19^  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

these  powers  of  the  soul.  The  first  life  is  the  pre- 
natal life.  Here  the  soul's  quickening  power  is 
engaged  in  nursing  the  body.  When  nourishment 
becomes  defective,  the  soul  "  expels  her  body " 
and  views  the  world.  This  is  what  we  call  birth. 
Could  the  child  speak,  he  would  call  it  death. 

Now  the  individual  enters  upon  the  second  life 
answering  to  the  second  power  of  the  soul  —  the 
life  of  sense.     He  enters  a  world  — 

"  Where  all  his  Senses  in  perfection  bee; 
Where  he  finds  flowers  to  smell,  and  fruits  to  taste; 
And  sounds  to  heare,  and  sundry  formes  to  see." 

After  the  individual  has  spent  .some  time  living 
this  life  of  sense,  he  enters  upon  the  rational  life, 
which,  as  we  have  seen  before,  is  lived  in  connec- 
tion with  the  life  of  sense.  Rut  the  rational  life 
does  not  reach  its  perfection  here.  We  have  here 
only  the  dawn  of  reason  —  not  the  noon-day. 
Reason  merely  awakes  a  little ;  she  does  not  awake 
to  a  full  exercise  of  her  power.  But  when  the  soul 
quits  the  body  at  death,  then  she  enters  into  a 
perfect  exercise.     And  this  is  the  third  life,  and  — 

"In  this  third  life,  Reason  will  be  so  bright, 

As  that  her  sparke  will  like  the  sun-beames  shine; 
And  shall  of  God  enioy  the  reall  sight. 
Being  still  increast  by  influence  diuine." 


Imtnortality  of  the  Soul  igg 

In  Davies's  discussion  of  the  soul's  immortality 
we  can  easily  trace  the  influence  of  Aristotle, 
Cicero,  and  Calvin.  Especially  is  the  influence  of 
Cicero  and  Calvin  manifest.  In  the  second  reason 
for  belief  in  the  soul's  immortality  which  Davies 
presents,  it  is  evident  that  he  learned  of  Calvin. 
It  is  based  on  the  "  motion  "  of  the  soul,  or  the 
soul's  capacity  to  reach  God  through  reason  and 
the  moral  will.  On  this  subject,  Calvin  says: 
"  Moreover,  there  can  be  no  question  that  man 
consists  of  a  body  and  a  soul;  meaning  by  soul, 
an  immortal  though  created  essence,  which  is  his 
nobler  part.  Sometimes  he  is  called  a  spirit.  .  .  . 
It  is  true,  indeed,  that  men  cleaving  too  much 
to  the  earth  are  dull  of  apprehension,  nay,  being 
alienated  from  the  Father  of  Lights,  are  so  im- 
mersed in  darkness  as  to  imagine  that  they  will 
not  survive  the  grave;  still  the  light  is  not  so 
completely  quenched  in  darkness  that  all  sense 
of  immortality  is  lost.  Conscience,  which,  dis- 
tinguishing between  good  and  evil,  responds  to 
the  judgment  of  God,  is  an  undoubted  sign  of  an 
immortal  spirit.  How  could  motion  devoid  of 
essence  penetrate  to  the  judgment-seat  of  God,  and 
under  a  sense  of  guilt  strike  itself  with  terror  ?  The 
body  cannot  be  aft"ected  by  any  fear  of  spiritual 


200  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

punishment.  This  is  competent  only  to  the  soul, 
which  must  therefore  be  endued  with  essence. 
Then  the  mere  knowledge  of  a  God  sufficiently 
proves  that  souls  which  rise  higher  than  the  world 
must  be  immortal,  it  being  impossible  that  any 
evanescent  vigour  could  reach  the  very  fountain  of 
life.  In  fine,  while  the  many  noble  faculties  with 
which  the  human  mind  is  endued  proclaim  that 
something  divine  is  engraven  on  it,  they  are  so 
many  evidences  of  an  immortal  essence.  For  such 
sense  as  the  lower  animals  possess  goes  not  be- 
yond the  body,  or  at  least  not  beyond  the  objects 
actually  presented  to  it.  But  the  swiftness  with 
which  the  human  mind  glances  from  heaven  to 
earth,  scans  the  secrets  of  nature,  and,  after  it  has 
embraced  all  ages,  with  intellect  and  memory 
digests  each  in  its  proper  order,  and  reads  the 
future  in  the  past,  clearly  demonstrates  that  there 
lurks  in  man  a  something  separated  from  the 
body.  We  have  intellect  by  which  we  are  able  to 
conceive  of  the  invisible  God  and  angels  —  a  thing 
of  which  body  is  altogether  incapable.  We  have 
ideas  of  rectitude,  justice,  and  honesty  —  ideas 
which  the  bodily  senses  cannot  reach.  The  scat 
of  these  ideas  must  therefore  be  a  spirit."  ^ 
1  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  I.  ch.  XV.  sec.  2. 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  201 

Davies  takes  essentially  the  same  position  in  the 
following  words :  — 

"  Againe  how  can  shee  but  immortall  bee  ? 

When  with  the  motions  of  both  Will  and  Wit^ 

She  still  aspireth  to  etemitie, 

And  neuer  rests,  till  she  attaine  to  it  ? 

"  Wit^  seeking  Truths  from  cause  to  cause  ascends, 
And  neuer  rests,  till  it  ^}c\t first  attaine; 
IVilly  seeking  Good,  finds  many  middle  ends, 
But  neuer  stayes,  till  it  the  last  doe  gaine. 

"  Now  God,  the  Truths  and  First  of  Causes  is : 
God  is  the  Last  Good  End,  which  lasteth  still ; 
Being  Alpha  and  Omega  nam'd  for  this  ; 
Alpha  to  Wit,  Omega  to  the  Will. 

••  Sith  then  her  heauenly  kind  shee  doth  bewray. 
In  that  to  God  she  doth  directly  moue ; 
And  on  no  mortall  thing  can  make  her  stay, 
She  cannot  be  from  hence,  but  from  about." 

Reasons  III.  and  IV.,  which  Davies  offers  as  in- 
dicating the  soul's  immortality,  based  respectively 
on  the  contempt  for  death  which  good  souls  show, 
and  the  fear  of  death  which  wicked  souls  evince, 
are  undoubtedly  an  implication  of  Christian  teach- 
ing with  reference  to  the  future  life  of  reward  and 
punishment,  —  the  doctrine  of  heaven  and  hell. 
Still  Davies  pronounces  this  contempt  on  the  one 


203  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

hand,   and    fear  on   the   other,  to   be  "Nature's 
speech  " :  — 

"If  then  all  Soules,  both  good  and  bad,  doe  teach, 
With  generall  voice,  that  soules  can  neuer  die, 
•Tis  not  man's  flattering  glosse,  but  Nature's  speech. 
Which,  like  Coifs  Oracle,  can  neuer  lie." 

We  note  here  the  influence  of  Cicero.  In  his 
remarks  *'  On  the  Contempt  of  Death,"  in  the 
Disputationes  Titsculance,  he  gives  reasons  why  the 
good  man,  or  the  superior  soul,  should  not  fear 
death,  and  points  out  the  destiny  of  wicked  souls. 
He  quotes  with  admiration  Socrates's  famous 
speech  before  his  judges,  in  regard  to  the  good 
man  having  no  need  to  fear  death.  In  this  book 
Cicero  also  speaks  of  the  improbability  of  cour- 
ageous sacrifice,  were  men  not  immortal,  or  were 
men  not  possessed  of  belief  in  immortality: 
"  What  will  you  say?  What  do  you  imagine  that 
so  many  and  such  great  men  of  our  republic,  who 
have  sacrificed  their  lives  for  its  good,  expected? 
Do  you  believe  that  they  thought  that  their  names 
should  not  continue  beyond  their  lives?  None 
ever  encountered  death  for  their  country  but  under 
a  firm  persuasion  of  immortality!  Thcmistoclcs 
might  have  lived  at  his  ease;  so  might  Epami- 
nondas ;  and,  not  to  look  abroad  and  among  the 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  20J 

ancients  for  instance,  so  might  I  myself.  But, 
somehow  or  other,  there  ch'ngs  to  our  minds  a 
certain  presage  of  future  ages;  and  this  both  exists 
most  firmly,  and  appears  most  clearly,  in  men  of 
the  loftiest  genius  and  greatest  souls.  Take  away 
this,  and  who  would  be  so  mad  as  to  spend  his  life 
amidst  toils  and  dangers?  I  speak  of  those  in 
power.  What  are  the  poet's  views  but  to  be  en- 
nobled after  death?  What  else  is  the  object  of 
these  lines, 

Behold  old  Ennius  here,  who  erst 
Thy  fathers'  great  exploits  rehearsed? 

He  is  challenging  the  reward  of  glory  from  those 
men  whose  ancestors  he  himself  had  ennobled  by 
his  poetry.  And  in  the  same  spirit  he  says,  in 
another  passage, 

Let  none  with  tears  my  funeral  g^ace,  for  I 
Claim  from  my  works  an  immortality. 

Why  do  I  mention  poets?  The  very  mechanics 
are  desirous  of  fame  after  death.  Why  did  Phidias 
include  a  likeness  of  himself  in  the  shield  of 
Minerva,  when  he  was  not  allowed  to  inscribe  his 
name  on  it?  What  do  our  philosophers  think  on 
the  subject?  Do  not  they  put  their  names  to 
those  very  books  which  they  write  on  the  contempt 


304  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

of  glory?  If,  then,  universal  consent  is  the  voice 
of  nature,  and  if  it  is  the  general  opinion  every- 
where that  those  who  have  quitted  this  life  are 
still  interested  in  something,  we  also  must  sub- 
scribe to  that  opinion.  And  if  we  think  that  men 
of  the  greatest  abilities  and  virtues  see  most  clearly 
into  the  power  of  nature,  because  they  themselves 
are  her  most  perfect  work,  it  is  very  probable  that, 
as  every  great  man  is  especially  anxious  to  benefit 
posterity,  there  is  something  of  which  he  himself 
will  be  sensible  after  death."  ^ 

Compare  with  these  words  the  following  words 
of  Davies :  — 

"  For  all  things  else,  which  Nature  makes  to  bee, 
Their  i>ein^  to  preserue,  are  chiefly  taught ; 
And  though  some  things  desire  a  change  to  see, 
Yet  neuer  thing  did  long  to  turne  to  naught. 

"  If  then  by  death  the  sou/e  were  quenched  quite, 
She  could  not  thus  against  her  nature  runne; 
Since  euery  senseiesse  thing,  by  Nature's  light. 
Doth  preservation  seeke,  destruction  shunne. 

"Nor  could  the  World's  best  spirits  so  much  erre. 
If  death  tooke  all  —  that  they  should  all  agree, 
Before  this  life,  their  honour  to  prcferre  ; 
For  what  is  praise  to  things  that  nothing  bee? 

'  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  I.  sec.   15.     All   quotations   from   Cicero  are 
from  Yonge's  translation.  New  York,  1877. 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  20^ 

••  Againe,  if  by  the  bodie's  prop  she  stand ; 
If  on  the  bodie's  life,  her  life  depend  ; 
As  Meleager's  on  the  fatall  brand,  — 
The  bodie's  good  shee  onely  would  intend : 

*'  We  should  not  find  her  half  so  braue  and  bold, 
To  leade  it  to  the  Warres  and  to  the  seas ; 
To  make  it  suffer  watchings,  hunger,  cold, 
When  it  might  feed  with  plenty,  rest  with  ease. 

"  Doubtlesse  all  Soules  have  a  suruiuing  thought ; 
Therefore  of  death  we  thinke  with  quiet  mind ; 
But  if  we  thinke  of  being  turtCd to  nought^ 
A  trembling  horror  in  our  soules  we  find." 

In  Davies's  fifth  reason  for  affirming  the  immor- 
tah'ty  of  the  soul,  we  note  again  the  influence  of 
Cicero  upon  his  thinking.  Under  "  Reason  V."  he 
really  includes  a  number  of  reasons,  all  of  which 
are  to  be  found  in  Cicero.  We  have  the  universal 
desire  or  general  assent  to  the  belief;  also  the 
"launching"  of  the  mind  into  future  things.  We 
have  the  desire  for  posthumous  fame  springing  out 
of  the  desire  for  immortality.  We  have  also  care 
for  posterity  arising  from  this  desire.  A  com- 
parison of  the  views  and  language  of  the  two 
authors  will  leave  no  doubt  as  to  Davies's  obliga- 
tion to  Cicero.  Cicero,  after  a  long  discussion  of 
the  argument  from  general  assent,  says:  "But 
as  we  are  led  by  nature  to  think  there  are  Gods, 


2o6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

and  as  we  discover,  by  reason,  of  what  description 
they  arc,  so,  by  the  consent  of  all  nations,  we  are 
induced  to  believe  that  our  souls  survive."  ^ 

And,  again,  in  language  which  Davies  closely 
follows:  "But  the  greatest  proof  of  all  is,  that 
nature  herself  gives  a  silent  judgment  in  favor  of 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  inasmuch  as  all  are 
anxious,  and  that  to  a  great  degree,  about  the 
things  which  concern  futurity: 

One  plants  what  future  ages  shall  enjoy, 

as  Statius  saith  in   his  Synephebi.     What  is   his 
object  in  doing  so,  except  that  he   is  interested 
in  posterity?    Shall  the  industrious  husbandman, 
then,  plant  trees  the  fruit  of  which  he  shall  never 
see?      And  shall  not  the  great  man  found   laws, 
institutions,  and  a  republic?     What  docs  the  pro- 
creation of  children  imply,  and  our  care  to  con- 
tinue  our   names,   and   our    adoptions,   and    our 
scrupulous   exactness   in    drawing    up   wills,    and 
the    inscriptions  on  monuments,   and  panegyrics, 
but  that  our  thoughts  run  on  futurity?     There  is 
no  doubt  but  a  judgment  may  be  formed  of  nature 
in  general,  from  looking  at  each  nature  in  its  most 
perfect  specimens;   and   what    is    a    more   perfect 
»  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  I.  sec.  i6. 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  2oy 

specimen  of  a  man  than  those  are  who  look  on 
themselves  as  born  for  the  assistance,  the  protec- 
tion, and  the  preservation  of  others?  Hercules 
has  gone  to  heaven ;  he  never  would  have  gone 
thither  had  he  not,  while  among  men,  made  that 
road  for  himself.  These  things  are  of  old  date,  and 
have,  besides,  the  sanction  of  universal  religion."  ^ 
So  Davies  says :  — 

"Hence  springs  that  vniiiersall  strong  desire, 
Which  all  men  haue  of  Immortalitie : 
Not  some  few  spirits  vnto  this  thought  aspire ; 
But  all  mens*  minds  in  this  vnited  be. 

"  Then  this  desire  of  Nature  is  not  vaine. 
She  couets  not  impossibilities  ; 
Fond  thoughts  may  fall  into  some  idle  braine, 
But  one  assent  of  all,  is  euer  wise. 

'•  From  hence  that  generall  care  and  study  springs, 
That  launching  TinA  progression  of  the  mind j 
Which  all  men  haue  so  much,  of  future  things, 
That  they  no  ioy  doe  in  the  present  find. 

"  From  this  desire,  that  maine  desire  proceeds. 
Which  all  men  haue  suruiuing  Fame  to  gaine; 
By  iombes,  by  bookes,  by  memorable  deeds  : 
For  she  that  this  desires,  doth  still  remaine. 

"  Hence  lastly,  springs  care  of  posterities. 

For  things  their  kind  would  euerlasting  make; 
Hence  is  it  that  old  men  do  plant  young  trees. 
The  fruit  whereof  another  age  shall  take. 

1  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  I.  sec.  14. 


2o8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

"  If  we  these  rules  vnto  our  selues  apply, 
And  view  them  by  reflection  of  the  mind  ; 
All  these  true  notes  of  immortalitie 
In  our  heart's  tables  we  shall  written  find." 

Reason  VI.,  based  on  the  "  Doubt  and  Dispu- 
tation of  Immortalitie,"  is  simply  another  way  of 
stating  Calvin's  argument;    namely,  that  the  fact 
that  we  can  form  ideas  of  immortal  things  is  evi- 
dence of  our  immortality.     Davies  affirms,  that  to 
doubt  immortality  is  to  reveal  an  idea  of  "  immor- 
tal things,"  and  thus  to  reveal  the  doubter's  im- 
mortal nature.     Calvin   puts  the  argument  thus: 
"  We  have  intellect  by  which  we  are  able  to  con- 
ceive of  the  invisible  God  and  angels  —  a  thing  of 
which  body  is  altogether  incapable.      We    have 
ideas   of  rectitude,  justice,   and    honesty  —  ideas 
which  the  bodily  senses  cannot  reach.     The  seat 
of  these  ideas  must  therefore  be  a  spirit."^     And 
the  context  shows  that  he  uses  spirit  in  this  con- 
nection as  synonymous  with  immortal  spirit.     For 
he  says:    "Moreover,  there  can  be  no  question 
that  man  consists  of  a  body  and  a  soul ;    mean- 
ing by  soul,  an  immortal  though  created  essence, 
which  is  his  nobler  part.     Sometimes  he  is  called 
a  spirit."'^ 

1  Op.  cit.,  15k.  I.  ch.  XV.  sec.  2.  *  Ibid. 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  aog 

Davies,  in  speaking  of  the  idea  of  "  immortal 
things  "  involved  in  the  sceptic's  denial  of  im- 
mortality, says :  — 

•'So,  when  we  God  and  angels  do  conceiue, 
And  thinke  of  truth,  which  is  eternall  too; 
Then  doe  our  minds  immortall  formes  receiue, 
Which  if  they  mortal!  were,  they  could  not  doo." 

Cicero  and  Calvin,  then,  constitute  the  chief 
sources  of  inilucnce  upon  Davies's  thinking  on  the 
subject  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  But  there 
is  a  general  argument  underlying  Davies's  entire 
thought  on  this  subject  for  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  he  is  indebted  primarily  to  Aristotle ;  namely, 
the  soul's  independence  of  the  body. 

The  subject  of  immortality  has  figured  con- 
spicuously in  the  history  of  speculative  thought. 
The  preponderance  of  speculative  opinion  has 
been  favorable  to  the  belief.  Early  in  the  his- 
tory of  Greek  philosophy  it  was  held  by  the 
:  thagoreans.  It  is  involved  in  their  doctrine 
of  metempsychosis  or  transmigration  of  souls. 

If  we  are  justified  in  assuming  that  the  words 
put  into  the  mouth  of  Socrates  in  the  Phcedo  by 
Plato  are  representative  of  the  views  of  Socrates 
on   immortality,  then   Socrates   was   undoubtedly 

>4 


2ro  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

an  able  champion  of  the  belief.  And  there  seems 
no  reason  for  doubting  the  above  assumption. 

Plato,  as  has  already  been  suggested,  argues  at 
length  in  the  Phcedo  the  reality  of  immortality. 
So  numerous  and  varied  are  his  arguments  that 
one's  surprise  increases  as  he  reflects  upon  Davies's 
failure  to  interrogate  Plato  on  this  question  in 
which  the  poet  was  so  deeply  interested,^ 

It  is  sometimes  disputed  whether  Aristotle  be- 
lieved in  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  In  try- 
ing to  answer  the  question  it  is  of  importance  to 
keep  in  mind  the  distinction  which  he  makes  be- 
tween the  animal  soul — the  soul  as  connected  with 
the  body  —  and  the  active  j/oO?  or  the  Reason, — 
the  soul  whose  essential  existence  is  independent 
of  the  body.  If  we  keep  this  distinction  in  mind 
it  cannot  be  doubted  that  Aristotle  teaches  the 
immortality  of  the  active  vov<i  or  Reason.  On 
this  point  he  says :  — 

"  Reason  however  would  seem  to  constitute 
a  different  phase  of  soul  from  those  we  have 
already  noticed  and  it  alone  admits  of  separa- 
tion as  the  eternal  from  the  perishable."-  And 
again:  — 

»  Except  in  one  instance  indirectly  through  Cicero. 
2  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  II.  ch.  ii.  sec.  lo. 


Immortality  of  the  Soul  211 

"  Further,  this  creative  reason  does  not  at  one 
time  think,  at  another  time  not  think:  (it  thinks 
eternally:)  and  when  separated  from  the  body 
it  remains  nothing  but  what  it  essentially  is:  and 
thus  it  is  alone  immortal  and  eternal."  ^ 

It  is  impossible  here  to  enter  into  the  contro- 
versy as  to  whether  Aristotle's  doctrine  of  im- 
mortality involves  a  personal  Immortality  or  not.* 
Our  own  opinion  is,  that  while  he  does  not  ex- 
■  plicitly  teach  a  personal  immortality,  his  doctrine 
of  Reason  or  active  vov<i  is  not  inconsistent  with 
such  a  view. 

After  Aristotle,  probably  the  most  conspicuous 
advocate  of  the  reality  of  immortality  in  Greek 
and  Graeco-Roman  thought,  was  Cicero.  His 
views  have  already  been  given. 

Of  course  the  doctrine  of  a  personal  immortality 
is  pre-eminently  a  Christian  doctrine.  It  is  not  only 
taught  in  the  New  Testament,  but  Christian  specu- 
lative thought  practically  from  its  beginning  down 
to  the  present  day  has  affirmed  either  the  essential 
immortality  of  the  soul,  or  an  acquired  immortality, 

^  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  III.  ch.  V.  sec.  2. 

'  Cf.  Zeller,  "  Aristotle  and  the  Earlier  Peripatetics,"  Eng. 
trans.  London,  1897,  Vol.  II.  pp.  129-135;  also  Janet  and 
Seaiiles,  "History  of  the  Problems  of  Philosophy,"  trans,  by 
Monahan.     London,  1902,  Vol.  II.  pp.  355-359- 


212  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Probably  the  most  conspicuous  representatives 
of  the  doctrine  of  a  personal  immortality  in  Modern 
Philosophy  are  Leibnitz  and  Kant  The  former 
founds  his  beHef  on  a  doctrine  of  development 
which  implies  both  pre-existence  and  immortality.^ 
The  latter  makes  immortality  a  postulate  of  the 
practical  reason  or  moral  consciousness.  In  his 
Critique  of  Practical  Reason  he  says  that  the  moral 
nature  demands  of  us  moral  perfection.  This,  in 
a  being  constituted  like  man,  involves  endless 
progression.  Such  endless  progression,  of  course, 
necessitates  immortality. 

^  "  Monadology  " ;  also  "  Theodicy." 


CONCLUSION 

'THHUS,  in  this  elaborate  poem,  has  our  author  ^ 

given  poetical  expression  to  his  thought  on 
some  of  the  profoundest  problems  that  can  engage 
the  human  mind.  He  has  considered  the  problem  I 
of  knowledge  and  man's  capacity  to  know,  and 
has  come  to  the  conclusion  that  through  the  Fall 
of  man,  and  the  consequences  entailed  upon  the 
race  thereby,  man  is  suffering  from  mental  im- 
potency  —  from  an  impaired  mental  and  moral 
vision.  So  that,  if  man  is  to  know  the  soul  aright, 
he  needs  divine  aid  to  supplement  his  efforts.  In 
the  second  place,  he  has  considered  the  problem 
of  the  reality  of  the  soul,  and  has  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  soul  is  an  independent,  spir- 
itual agent  whose  nature  is  primarily  revealed 
in  two  fundamental  modes  of  functioning  —  wit 
and  will.  This  reality  of  the  soul  he  has  en- 
deavored to  vindicate  in  the  face  of  formidable 
opposition    in   the    form   of    Sensationalism   and 


214  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Materialism,  which  deny  the  soul's  reality.  In 
the  third  place,  he  has  considered  the  problem 
of  the  mode  of  the  soul's  origin  —  more  partic- 
ularly its  origin  in  connection  with  the  body. 
His  reflections  have  led  him  to  reject  the  doctrines 
of  Pre-existence  and  Traducianism,  and  to  adopt 
the  theory  of  Creationism  —  that  every  soul  is 
an  immediate  creation  on  the  part  of  the  Deity 
contemporaneously  with  the  body,  and  is  breathed 
into  the  body  in  its  pre-natal  state.  In  the  fourth 
place,  he  has  considered  the  problem  of  the  union 
of  soul  and  body,  and  has  concluded  that  the 
purpose  of  this  union  is,  that  man  might  bear  the 
image  of  all  things  —  might  be  a  microcosm;  also, 
that  man  might  utilize  and  take  delight  in  the 
world,  as  well  as  glorify  the  Creator ;  and,  finally, 
that  man  might  rule  over  the  animal  kingdom. 
He  has  not  explained  the  ultimate  nature  of  the 
relation  between  soul  and  body,  but  has  likened 
this  relation  unto  the  union  of  the  morning  light 
with  the  atmosphere.  In  the  fifth  place,  the 
poet  has  considered  the  question  of  the  soul's 
powers  and  their  exercise  in  the  body.  In  his 
psychological  analysis  he  was  led  to  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  vegetative  or  quickening  power,  the 
power  of  sense,  and  the  powers  of  wit  and  will, 


Conclusion  21^ 

as  constituting  the  main  activities  of  the  soul, 
and  that  these  powers  are  not  distinct  entities  or 
agents,  but  all  are  modes  of  the  activity  of  a 
distinct  unitary  agent  called  mind.  He  has  also 
concluded  that  these  powers  are  mutually  depend- 
ent, and  that  the  exercise  of  some  is  accompanied 
by  certain  physical  conditions.  In  the  sixth  place, 
he  has  considered  the  destiny  of  the  mind  —  the 
problem  of  its  immortality,  and  has  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  is  immortal.  In  attaining  this 
conclusion,  he  has  not  only  considered  the  argu- 
ments in  favor  of,  but  also  the  arguments  against, 
such  belief.  And  finally,  he  has  concluded  that 
there  are  three  kinds  of  life  corresponding  to  the 
quickening,  sense,  and  rational  powers  of  the  soul. 
They  are  the  pre-natal,  mortal,  and  immortal  life.  | 
One  is  hardly  surprised  that,  after  such  a  sus- 
tained effort  of  serious  reflection  on  the  prob- 
lems of  a  philosophy  of  mind,  and  after  reaching 
such  conclusions  in  regard  to  the  reality,  origin, 
nature,  powers,  and  destiny  of  the  soul,  the  poet 
finally  breaks  forth  with  the  acclamation :  — 

"  O  ignorant  poor  man  !  what  dost  thou  beare 
Lockt  vp  within  the  casket  of  thy  brest? 
What  Jewels,  and  what  riches  hast  thou  there ! 
What  heauenly  treasure  in  so  weake  a  chest  I 


2t6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

"  Look  in  thy  soule,  and  thou  shah  beauties  find, 
Like  those  which  drownd  Narcissus  in  the  flood 
Honour  and  Pleasure  both  are  in  thy  mind, 
And  all  that  in  the  world  is  counted  Gooil. 

"  Thinke  of  her  worth,  and  think  that  God  did  meane, 
This  worthy  mind  should  worthy  things  imbrace ; 
Blot  not  her  beauties  with  thy  thoughts  vnclean, 
Nor  her  dishonour  with  thy  passions  base; 

"  Kill  not  her  quickning power  with  surfettings. 
Mar  not  her  Sense  with  sensualitie  ; 
Cast  not  her  serious  wit  on  idle  things : 
Make  not  her  irtt-will,  slaue  to  vanitie. 

*♦  And  when  thou  think'st  of  her  eternitie, 

Thinke  not  that  Death  against  her  nature  is, 
Thinke  it  a  birth  ;  and  when  thou  goest  to  die» 
Sing  like  a  swan,  as  if  thou  went'st  to  blisse. 

"And  if  thou,  like  a  child,  didst  feare  before, 

Being  in  tlie  darke,  where  thou  didst  nothing  see  ; 
Now  I  haue  broght  thee  torch-light,  feare  no  more ; 
Now  when  thou  diest,  thou  canst  not  hud-winkt  be. 

"And  thou  my  Soule,  which  turn'st  thy  curious  eye, 
To  view  the  beames  of  thine  owne  forme  diuine  ; 
Know,  that  thou  canst  know  nothing  perfectly, 
While  thou  art  clouded  with  this  flesh  of  mine. 

**  Take  heed  of  ouer-weenittgy  and  compare 

Thy  peacock's  feet  with  thy  gay  peacock's  traine ; 
Study  the  best,  and  highest  things  that  are, 
But  of  thy  selfe  an  humble  thought  retaine. 


Conclusion  217 

**  Cast  downe  thy  selfe,  and  onely  striue  to  raise 
The  glory  of  thy  Maker's  sacred  Name  ; 
Vse  all  thy  powers,  that  Blessed  Power  to  praise, 
Which  giues  thee  power  to  bee,  and  vse  the  same." 


APPENDIX 


NOSCE    TEIPSUM 

BY  SIR  JOHN  DAVIES 


I.  Eopal  DetJfcarton 

TO  MY  MOST    GRACIOVS  DREAD 
SOVERAIGNE 

/  ^'T^O  tJiat  cleere  maiestie  which  in  the  North 
■*•       Doth,  like  another  Sunne  in  glory  rise  ; 
Which  standeth  fixt,  yet  spreads  her  heauenly 

wort/i ; 
Loadstone  to  hearts^  and  loadstarre  to  all  eyes. 

\Like  Heau'n  in  all ;  like  th'  Earth  in  this  alone ^ 
TJiat  though  great  States  by  her  support  doe  standi 
Yet  she  her  self e  supported  is  of  none. 
But  by  the  finger  of  the  Almightie's  hand: 

)  To  the  diuinest  and  the  richest  ntinde, 

Both  by  Art's  purchase  and  by  Nature's  dowre^ 
That  euer  was  from  Heau'n  to  Earth  confin'd^ 
To  shew  the  vtmost  of  a  creatures  power  : 

"4  To  that  great  Spirit,  which  doth  great  kingdomes 
mopue, 
The    sacred  spring   whence    right    and  honor 

streames, 
Distilling  Vertue,  shedding  Peace  and  Loue, 
Itt  euery  place,  as  Cynthia  sheds  her  beames: 


222  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

^  I  offer  up  some  sparkles  of  that  fire, 

Whereby  wee  reason,  Hue,  and  moue,  and  be; 
These  sparkes  by  nature  euermore  aspire. 
Which  makes  them  to  so  high  an  highnessey?^^. 

S^Faire  Soule,  situ:e  to  the  fairest  body  knit, 

You  gine  such  liuely  life,  such  quickning  power. 

Such  sweet  celestiall  influences  to  it. 

As  keepes  it  still  in  youth's  itnmortall  flower  : 

_  (As  where  the  sunne  is  present  all  the  yeere^ 
And  neuer  doth  retire  his  golden  ray. 
Needs  must  the  Spring  bee  euerlasting  there, 
And  euery  season  like  the  month  of  May.) 

iO/  many,  many  yeeres  may  you  rcmaine, 
A  happy  angell  to  this  happy  Land; 
Long,  long  may  you  on  Earth  our  empresse  raigne. 
Ere  you  in  Heaucn  a  glorious  angell  stand. 

1  Stay  long  (sweet  spirit)  ere  thou  to  Heauen  depart. 
Which  mak'st  each  place  a  heauen  wherein  thou  art. 

Her  Maiestie's  least  and  vnworthiest  Subiect 

lOHN   DAVIES. 


Of  Humane  Knowledge  22) 

OF   HUMANE   KNOWLEDGE 

/  "\  T  THY  did  my  parents  send  me  to  the  Schooles, 
That  I  with  knowledge  might  enrich  my 
mind? 
Since  the  desire  to  know  first  made  men  fools, 
And  did  corrupt  the  root  of  all  mankind: 

1  For  when  God's  hand  had  written  in  the  hearts 
Of  the  first  Parents,  all  the  rules  of  good, 
So  that  their  skill  infusde  did  passe  all  arts 
That  euer  were,  before,  or  since  the  Flood ; 

'  And  when  their  reason's  eye  was  sharpe  and  cleere, 
And  (as  an  eagle  can  behold  the  sunne) 
Could  haue  approcht  th'  Eternall  Light  as  neere, 
As  the  intellectuall  angels  could  haue  done: 

"'Euen  then  to  them  the  Spirit  of  Lyes  suggests 
That  they  were  blind,  because  they  saw  not  ill; 
And  breathes  into  their  incorrupted  brests 
A  curious  wish,  which  did  corrupt  their  will, 

5  For  that  same  ill  they  straight  desir'd  to  know; 
Which  ill,  being  nought  but  a  defect  of  good. 
In  all  God's  works  the  Diuell  could" not  show 
While  Man  their  lord  in  his  perfection  stood 


224  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

tSo  that  themselues  were  first  to  doe  the  ill, 

Ere  they  thereof  the  knowledge  could  attaine ; 
Like  him  that  knew  not  poison's  power  to  kill, 
Vntill  (by  tasting  it)  himselfe  was  slaine. 

I  Euen  so  by  tasting  of  that  fruite  forbid, 

Where  they  sought  knowledge,  they  did  error 

find ; 
111  they  desir'd  to  know,  and  ill  they  did ; 
And  to  giue  Passion  eyes,  made  Reason  blind. 

\For  then  their  minds  did  first  in  Passion  see 
Those  wretched  shapes  of  Miscrie  and  Woe, 
Of  I^akednesse,  of  Shame,  of  Pouertie, 
Which  then  their  owne  experience  made  them 
know. 

<;But  then  grew  Reason  darke,  that  she  no  more, 
Could  the  faire  formes  of  Good  and  Truth  discern ; 
^^//■^j  they  became,  that  ^rt^/«  were  before : 
And  this  they  got  by  their  desire  to  learne. 

p  But  we  their  wretched  of-spring,  what  doe  we? 
Doe  not  we  still  taste  of  the  fruit  forbid 
Whiles  with  fond  fruitlesse  curiositie, 
In  bookes  prophane  we   seekc  for  knowledge 
hid? 


Of  Humane  Knowledge  22^ 

"What  is  this  knowledge  but  the  sky-stolne  fire, 
For  which  the  thief e  still  chain'd  in  ice  doth  sit? 
And  which  the  poore  rude  Satyre  did  admire, 
And  needs  would  kisse  but  burnt  his  lips  with  it 

fvWhat  is  it?  but  the  cloud  of  emptie  raine. 

Which  when  Joue's  guest  imbrac't,  hee  monsters 

got? 
Or  the  false /><7j/^j  which  oft  being  fild  with  paine, 
Receiv'd  the  water,  but  retain'd  it  not  I 

'j  Shortly,  what  is  it  but  the  firie  coach 

Which  the  Youth  sought,  and  sought  his  death 

withal  ? 
Or  the  boje's  wings,  which  when  he  did  approch 
The  sunne's  hot  beames,  did  melt  and  let  him  fall? 

tiAnd  yet  alas,  when  all  our  lamps  are  burnd, 
Our  bodyes  wasted,  and  our  spirits  spent; 
When  we  haue  all  the  learned  Volumes  turn'd, 
Which  yeeld  mens  wits  both  help  and  ornament: 

'^  What  can  we  know?  or  what  can  we  discerne? 
When  Error  chokes  the  windowes  of  the  minde, 
The  diuers  formes  of  things,  how  can  we  learne, 
That  haue  been  euer  from  our  birth-day  blind? 
IS 


226  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

'When  Reasone's  lampe,  which  (like  the  stinne  in 

skie) 
Throughout  Mans  little  world  her  beames  did 

spread ; 
Is  now  become  a  sparkle,  which  doth  He 
Vnder  the  ashes,  halfe  extinct,  and  dead : 

'?  How  can  we  hope,  that  through  the  eye  and  eare, 
This  dying  sparkle,  in  this  cloudy  place, 
Can  recollect  these  beames  of  knowledge  cleere. 
Which  were  infus'd  in  the  first  minds  by  grace? 

i%  So  might  the  heire  whose  father  hath  in  play 
Wasted  a  thousand  pound  of  ancient  rent; 
By  painefuU  earning  of  a  groate  a  day, 
Hope  to  restore  the  patrimony  spent. 

i\  The  wits  that  diu'd  most  deepe  and  soar'd  most  hie 
Seeking  Man's  pow'rs,  haue  found  his  wcaknesse 

such : 
"  Skill  comes  so  slow,  and  life  so  fast  doth  flie, 
'*  We  Icarnc  so  little  and  forget  so  much. 

"^"^For  this  the  wisest  of  all  morall  men 

Said,  '  He  knciv  nought,  but  that  he  nought  did 

know ' ; 
And  the  great  mocking-Mastcr  mockt  not  then. 
When  he  said,  '  T/uth  ivas  buried  dcepe  below.' 


Of  Humane  Knowledge  227 

VI    For  how  may  we  to  others*  things  attalne, 

When  none  of  vs  his  owne  soule  vnderstands? 
For  which  the  Diucll  mockes  our  curious  braine, 
When,  *Khozu  thy  selfe '  his  oracle  commands. 

vv  For  why  should  wee  the  busie  Soule  beleeue,  • 
When  boldly  she  concludes  of  that  and  this; 
When  of  her  sclfe  she  can  no  iudgement  giue, 
Nor  how,  nor  whence,  nor  where,  nor  what  she  is? 

j/3  All  things  without,  which  round  about  we  see, 

We  seeke  to  knowe,  and  how  therewith  to  doe; 
But  that  whereby  we  reason,  Hue  and  be, 
Within  our  selues,  we  strangers  are  thereto. 

vVWe  seeke  to  know  the  mouing  of  each  spheare, 
And  the  strange  cause  of  th'  ebs  and  flouds  of 

Nile  ; 
But  of  that  clocke  within  our  breasts  we  beare,  / 
The  subtill  motions  we  forget  the  while. 

t'We  that  acquaint  our  selues  with  euery  Zoane 
And  passe  both  Tropikes  and  behold  the  Poles, 
When   we  come   home,   are  to  our  ^elues  vn- 

known. 
And  vnacquainted  still  with  our  owne  Soules.* 


228  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

I'-We  study  S/>cec/i  but  others  we  perswade; 

We  leech-craft  learne,  but  others  cure  with  it; 
We  interpret  lawes,  which  other  men  haue  made, 
But  readc  not  those  which  in  our  hearts  are  writ. 

■x-)  Is  it  because  the  minde  is  like  the  eye, 

Through    which   it   gathers  knowledge    by  de- 
grees — 
Whose  rayes  reflect  not,  but  spread  outwardly: 
Not  seeing  it  selfe  when  other  things  it  sees? 

yi  No,  doubtlesse ;   for  the  mind  can  backward  cast 
Vpon  her  selfe,  her  vnderstanding  light; 
But  she  is  so  corrupt,  and  so  defac't. 
As  her  owne  image  doth  her  selfe  affright. 

^*1  As  in  the  fable  of  the  Lady  faire, 

Which  for  her  lust  was  turnd  into  a  cow; 
When  thirstie  to  a  streame  she  did  repaire, 
And  saw  her  selfe  transform'd  she  wist  not  how: 

\^  At  first  she  startles,  then  she  stands  amaz'd. 

At  last  with  terror  she  from  thence  doth  flye; 
And  loathes  the  watry  glasse  wherein  she  gaz'd, 
And  shunnes  it  still,  though  she  for  thirst  doc 
die: 


Of  Humane  Knowledge  22p 

\\  Euen  so  Man's  Sonic  which  did  God's  image  beare, 
And  was  at  first  faire,  good,  and  spotlesse  pure; 
Since  with  her  sinnes  her  beauties  blotted  were, 
Doth  of  all  sights  her  owne  sight  least  endure: 

J  2.  For  euen  at  first  reflection  she  espies, 

Such  strange  chimeraes,  and  such  monsters  there ; 

Such  toyes,  such  antikes,  and  such  vanities, 

As  she  retires,  and  shrinkes  for  shame  and  feare. 

^3  And  as  the  man  loues  least  at  home  to  bee, 

That  hath  a  sluttish  house  haunted  with  sprites; 
So  she  impatient  her  owne  faults  to  see, 
Turnes  from  her  selfe  and  in  strange  things  delites. 

)vFor  this  few  know  themselues :  for  merchants  broke 
View  their  estate  with  discontent  and  paine ; 
And  seas  are  troubled,  when  they  doe  reuoke 
Their  flowing  waues  into  themselues  againe. 

3rAnd  while  the  face  of  outward  things  we  find, 
Pleasing  and  faire,  agreeable  and  sweet; 
These  things  transport,  and  carry  out  the  mind. 
That  with  her  selfe  her  selfe  can  neuer  meet. 

'^v  Yet  \{  Affliction  once  her  warres  begin, 

And  threat  the  feebler  Sense \\\\.\i  sword  and  fire; 
The  Mindc  contracts  her  selfe  and  shrinketh  in, 
And  to  her  selfe  she  gladly  doth  retire: 


2SO  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

hi  As  S/>iders  toucht,  seek  their  webs  inmost  part ; 
As  bees  in  stormes  vnto  their  hiiies  returne ; 
As  bloud  in  danger  gathers  to  the  heart ; 
As  men  seek  towns,  when  foes  the  country  burn. 

l(   If  ought  can  teach  vs  ought,  Afflictions  lookes,. 
(Making  vs  looke  into  our  selues  so  neere.) 
Teach  vs  to  know  our  scliics  beyond  all  bookes, 
Or  all  the  learned  Schooles  that  euer  were. 

MThis  mistrcsse  lately  pluckt  me  by  the  eare. 
And  many  a  golden  lesson  hath  me  taught; 
Hath  made  my  Senses  quickc,  and  Reason  cleare, 
Rcform'd  my  Will  and  rectifide  my  Thought. 

•lo  So  doe  the  winds  and  thunders  cleanse  the  ayre; 
So  working  lees  settle  and  purge  the  wine; 
So  lop't  and  pruned  trees  doe  flourish  faire; 
So  doth  the  fire  the  drossie  gold  refine. 

"^1  Neither  Mincrua  nor  the  learned  Muse, 

Nor  rules  oi  Arty  nor  precepts  of  the  wise; 
Could  in  my  braine  those  beames  of  skill  infuse, 
As  but  the  glance  of  this  Danies  angry  eyes. 

.  >4>  She  within  lists  my  ranging  minde  hath  brought, 
That  now  beyond  my  sclfc  I  list  not  goe; 
My  sclfe  am  center  of  my  circling  thought,  sj 
Onely  7Pty  selfe  I  studic,  Icarne,  and  know.  ♦' 


Of  Humane  Knowledge  2ji 

vJ>  I  know  my  bodie  *s  of  so  fraile  a  kind, 

As  force  without,  fcauers  within  can  kill ; 
I  know  the  heauenly  nature  of  my  minde, 
But  'tis  corrupted  both  in  wit  and  will: 

^  / 1  know  my  Sou/e  hath  power  to  know  all  thingSj 
Yet  is  she  blinde  and  ignorant  in  all; 
I  know  I  am  one  of  Nature's  little  kings, 
Yet  to  the  least  and  vilest  things  am  thrall. 

v"!  know  my  life  's  a  paine  and  but  a  span, 

I  know  my  Se^ise  is  mockt  with  euery  thing: 
And  to  conclude,  I  know  my  selfe  a  MAN, 
Which  is  a  proud,  and  yet  a  wretcJied  thing. " 


OF  THE  SOULE  OF  MAN  AND 
THE  IMMORTALITE  THEREOF 

/  np/tT^"  lights  of  heau'u  (which  are  the  World's 
fair  eies) 
Looke  downe  into  the  World,  the  World  to  see; 
And  as  they  turne,  or  wander  in  the  skies, 
Surucy  all  things  that  on  this  Center  bee. 

I  And  yet  the  lights  which  in  my  towre  do  shine, 
Mine  ejes  which  view  all  obiects,  nigh  and  farre; 
Looke  not  into  this  little  world  of  mine. 
Nor  see  my  face,  wherein  they  fix6d  are. 

)  Since  Nature  failes  vs  in  no  ncedfull  thing. 

Why  want  I  meanes  my  inward  selfe  to  see?    ' 
Which  sight  the  knowledg  of  my  self  might  bring, 
Which  to  true  wisdome  is  the  first  degree. 

^^  That  Power  which  gaue  me  eyes  the  World  to  view, 
To  see  my  selfe  infus'd  an  inivard  light ; 
Whereby  my  Sonle,  as  by  a  mirror  true, 
Of  her  owne  forme  may  take  a  perfect  sight, 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  2^) 

^  But  as  the  sharpest  eye  discerneth  nought, 

Except  the  j«//;/i'-beames  in  the  ayre  doe  shine; 
So  the  best  Soule  with  her  reflecting  thought, 
Sees  not  her  selfe  without  some  light  diuine. 

i>  O  Light  which  mak'st  the  light,  which  makes  the 
day ! 
Which  setst  the  eye  without,  and  mind  within ; 
'Lighten  my  spirit  with  one  cleare  heauenly  ray, 
Which  now  to  view  it  selfe  doth  first  begin. 

7For  her  true  forme  how  can  my  sparke  discerne? 
Which  dimme  by  nature.  Art  did  neuer  cleare;  '^ 
When  the  great  wits,  of  whom  all  skill  we  learn, 
Are  ignorant  both  what  slice  is,  and  where. 

t  One  thinks  the  Soule  is  aire ;  another,  yfr^  / 
Another  blood,  diffus'd  about  the  heart; 
Another  saith,  the  elements  conspire, 
And  to  her  essence  each  doth  giue  a  part. 

1  Musicians  thinke  our  Sou/es  are  harmonies, 
Phisicians  hold  that  they  complexions  bee ; 
Epicures  make  them  swarmes  o( atomies,. 
Which  doe  by  chance  into  our  bodies  flee. 

'>  Some  thinke  one  generall  Soule  fils  euery  braine, 
As  the  bright  sunne  sheds  light  in  euery  starre; 
And  others  thinke  the  name  of  Soule  is  vainc, 
And  that  we  onely  well-mixt  bodies  are. 


2^4  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

"  In  judgement  of  her  substance  thus  they  vary ; 
And  thus  they  vary  in  iudgement  of  her  seat; 
For   some    her  chaire  vp   to    the   braine   doe 

carry, 
Some  thrust  it  downe  into  the  stomackes  heat. 

K  Some  place  it  in  the  root  of  Hfe,  the  heart ; 
Some  in  the  liner,  fountaine  of  the  veines; 
Some  say,  S/iee  is  all  in  all,  and  all  in  part : 
Some  say,  She  is  not  containd  but  all  containes. 

•  )  Thus  these  great  clerks  their  little  wisdome  show, 
While  with  their  doctrines  they  at  hazard  play. 
Tossing  their  light  opinions  to  and  fro, 
To  mocke  the  lewd,  as  learn'd  in  this  as  they. 

H  For  no  craz'd  braine  could  eucr  yet  propound, 

Touching  the  Soule,  so  vaine  and  fond  a  thought, 
But    some   among   these    masters    haue    been 

found, 
Which  in  their  Schooles  the  self-same  thing  haue 

taught. 

•»  God  onely  wise,  to  punish  pride  of  wit, 

Among  men's  wits  hath  this  confusion  wrought, 
As  the  proud  towre  whose  points  the  clouds  did 

hit. 
By  tongues'  confusion  was  to  ruine  brought. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  a^^ 

/i  But    T/iOu   which   didst  Man's  soule  of   nothing 

make, 
And  when  to  nothing  it  was  fallen  agen, 
"  To  make  it  new,  the  forme  of  man  didst  take, 
"  And    God  with    God,   bccam'st    a    Man   with 

men. 

i]  Thou,  that  hast  fashioned  twice  this  Soule  of  ours, 
So  that  she  is  by  double  title  Thine  : 
Thou  onely  knowest  her  nature  and  her  pow'rs. 
Her  subtill  forme  Thou  onely  canst  define. 

li  To  iudge  her  selfe  she  must  her  selfe  transcend, 
As  greater  circles  comprehend  the  lesse  ; 
But  she  wants  power,  her  owne  powers  to  ex- 
tend, 
As  fettered  men  can  not  their  strength  expresse.  ^ 

>i    But  Thou  bright  Morning  Star,  Thou  rising  Sunne, 
Which   in    these    later   times    hast    brought   to 

light 
Those  mysteries,  that  since  the  world  begun. 
Lay  hid  in  darknesse,  and  eternall  night: 

>«  Thou  (lii-e  the  sunue)  dost  with  indifferent  ray, 
Into  \.\\e  palace  and  the  cottage  shine, 
And  shew'st  the  soule  both  to  the  clerke  and  lay, 
By  the  cleare  lampe  of  Thy  Oracle  diuine. 


2^6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

7'  This  Lampe  through  all  the  regions  of  my  braine, 
Where  my  sou/g  sits,  doth  spread  such  beamcs 

of  grace, 
As  now,  me  thinks,  I  do  distinguish  plain, 
Each  subtill  line  of  her  immortall  face. 

fl^   What  the  soule  is 

vv  T/ie  soule  a  substance,  and  a  spirit  is. 

Which  God  Himselfe  doth  in  the  body  make  ; 
Which  makes  the  Man  :  for  euery  man  from 

this. 
The  nature  of  a  Man,  and  name  doth  take. 

ly  And  though  this  spirit  be  to  the  body  knit, 
As  an  apt  meane  her  powers  to  exercise ; 
Which  are  life,  motion,  sense,  and  will,  and  wit. 
Yet  she  suruiues,  although  the  body  dies. 

That  the  soule  is  a  thing  subsisting  by 
IT  selfe  without  the  body 

f    ^HE  is  a  substance,  and  a  reall  thing, 

^     Which  hath  it  selfe  an  actuall  working  might; 
Which   neither  from   the   Senses'   power   doth 

spring, 
Nor  from  the  bodie's  humors,  tempred  right. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  2^7 

u"  She  is  a  vt'fte,  which  doth  no  propping  need, 

To  make  her  spread  her  selfe  or  spring  vpright; 
She  is  a  starre^  whose  beames  doe  not  proceed 
From  any  suttne,  but  from  a  natiue  hght. 

5(.    For  when  she  sorts  things /r^j^;// with  things /<2j/, 
And  thereby  things  to  come  doth  oft  foresee ; 
When  she  doth  doubt  at  first,  and  chuse  at  last, 
These  acts  her  owne,  without  her  body  bee. 

vi    When  of  the  deaw,  which  the  eye  and  eare  doe  take 
From  flowers  abroad,  and  bring  into  the  braine, 
She  doth  within  both  waxe  and  hony  make : 
This  worke  is  her's,  this  is  her  proper  paine. 

*r    When  she  from  sundry  acts,  one  skill  doth  draw. 
Gathering  from  diuers  fights  one  art  of  warre, 
From  many  cases  like,  one  rule  of  Law  ;  y 
These  her  collections,  not  the  Senses  are. 

2.^    When  in  th'  effects  she  doth  the  causes  know, 

And  seeing  the  stream,  thinks  wher  the  spring 

doth  rise ; 
And  seeing  the  branch,  conceiues  the  root  below ; 
These  things  she  views  without  the  bodie's  eyes. 

3o   When  she,  without  a  Pegasus,  doth  flie 

Swifter  then  lightning's  fire  from  Easi  to  West, 
About  the  Center  and  aboue  the  skie, 
She  trauels  then,  although  the  body  rest. 


2j8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

?»   When  all  her  works  she  formeth  first  within, 
Proportions  them,  and  sees  their  perfect  end, 
Ere  she  in  act  does  anie  part  begin; 
What  instruments  doth  then  the  body  lend? 

3i    When  without  hands  she  doth  thus  casths  build, 

Sees  without  eyes,  and  without  feet  doth  runne; 
When  she  digests  the  world,  yet  is  not  fil'd : 
By  her  owne  power  these  miracles  are  done. 

^3   When  she  defines,  argues,  diuides,  compounds. 
Considers  vertue,  vice,  and  gcnerall  things, 
And  marrying  diuers  principles  and  grounds, 
Out  of  their  match  a  true  conclusion  brings. 

3^  These  actions  in  her  closet  all  alone, 

(Retir'd  within  her  selfe)  she  doth  fulfill; 
Vsc  of  her  bodie's  organs  she  hath  none, 
When  she  doth  vse  the  powers  of  Wit  and  Will. 

•if   Yet  in  the  bodie's  prison  so  she  lies, 

As  through  the  bodie's  windowcs  she  must  looke. 

Her  diuers  powers  of  sense  to  exercise, 

By  gath'ring  notes  out  of  the  World's  great  book. 

)}*    Nor  can  her  selfe  discourse  or  iudge  of  ought, 

But  what  the  Sense  collects  and  home  doth  bring ; 
And  yet  the  power  of  her  discoursing  thought, 
From  these  collections,  is  a  diuers  thing. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  2}g 

V    For  though  our  eyes  can  nought  but  colours  see, 
Yet  colours  giue  them  not  their  powre  of  sight; 
So,  though  these  fruits  of  Sense  her  obiects  bee, 
Yet  she  discernes  them  by  her  proper  light. 

^  The  workman  on  his  stufle  his  skill  doth  show, 
And  yet  the  stuffe  giues  not  the  man  his  skill ; 
Kings  their  affaires  do  by  their  seruants  know, 
But  order  them  by  their  owne  royall  will. 

i)     So,  though  this  cunning  mistresse  and  this  queene, 
Doth,  as  her  instrument,  the  Senses  vse. 
To  know  all  things  that  dixcfelt,  heard,  or  seene, 
Yet  she  her  selfe  doth  onely  iudge  and  cimse: 

yj    Euen  as  our  great  wise  Emprcsse  that  now  raignes 
By  soiicraigne  title  ouer  sundry  Lands; 
Borrowes  in  meane  affaires  her  subiects  paines, 
Sees  by  their  eyes,  and  writeth  by  their  hands; 

,^,   But  things  of  waight  and  consequence  indeed, 
Her  selfe  doth  in  her  chamber  them  debate; 
Where  all  her  Counsellers  she  doth  exceed 
As  farre  in  iudgement,  as  she  doth  in  State. 

(jv    Or  as  the  man  whom  she  doth  now  aduance, 
Vpon  her  gracious  mercy-seat  to  sit ; 
Doth  common  things,  of  course  and  circumstance, 
To  the  reports  of  common  men  commit: 


2^0  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

'')  But  when  the  cause  it  selfe  must  be  decreed, 
Himselfe  in  person,  in  his  proper  Court, 
To  graue  and  solemne  hearing  doth  proceed, 
Of  euery  proofe  and  euery  by-report. 

i  f  Then,  like  God's  angell  he  pronounceth  right. 

And  milke  and  hony  from  his  tongue  doth  flow; 

Happie  are  they  that  still  are  in  his  sight. 

To  reape  the  wisedome  which  his  lips  doe  sow. 

'^r Right  so  the  Sou/e,  which  is  a  lady  free, 

And  doth  the  iustice  of  her  StaU'  maintaine; 
Because  th^  senses  ready  seruants  be. 
Attending  nigh  about  her  Court,  the  braine: 

•  •  By  them  the  formes  of  outward  things  she  Icarnes, 
For  they  rcturne  into  the  fantasie. 
What  cuer  each  of  them  abroad  disccrncs, 
And  there  inrole  it  for  the  Minde  to  see. 

'«7  But  when  she  sits  to  iudge  the  good  and  ill, 
And  to  discerne  betwixt  the  false  and  true ; 
She  is  not  guided  by  the  Senses'  skill, 
But  doth  each  thing  in  her  owne  mirrour  view. 

^"Then  she  the  Senses  checks,  which  oft  do  crre, 
And  cuen  against  their  false  reports  decrees; 
And  oft  she  doth  condemne  what  they  prcfcrre, 
For  with  a  power  abouc  the  Sense,  she  sees. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  241 

•If  Therefore  no  Sense  the  precious  ioyes  conceiues, 
Which  in  her  priuate  contemplations  bee; 
For  then  the  rauish't  spirit  the  Senses  leaues, 
Hath  her  owne  powers,  and  proper  actions  free. 

f°  Her  harmonies  are  sweet,  and  full  of  skill, 

When  on  the  Bodie's  instrument  she  playes; 

But  the  proportions  of  the  wit  and  w/7/, 

Those  sweete  accords,  are  euen  the  angel's  layes. 

^'  These  tunes  o( Reason  are  Amphion's  lyre, 
Wherewith  he  did  the  Thebane  citie  found ; 
These  arc  the  notes  wherewith  the  heauenly  ^«/V^, 
The  praise  of  Him  which  made  the  heauen  doth 
sound. 

J  *"  Then  her  selfe-bcing  nature  shines  in  this, 

That  she  performes  her  noblest  works  alone ; 
"  The  worke,  the  touch-stone  of  the  nature  is, 
"  And  by  their  operations,  things  arc  knowne. 

c  That  the  soule  is  more  then  a  perfection 

OR   REFLECTION   OF  THE   SENSE 


•'^A 


RE  t/uy  ?iot  scncelesse  then,  that  thinke  the 
Soule 

Nought  but  a  fine  perfection  of  the  Sense ; 
Or  of  the  formes  \\i\\\c\i  fancie  doth  enroule, 
A  qiiicke  resulting,  and  a  consequence  ? 
16 


^ 


242  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

>^  What  is  it  then  that  doth  the  Sense  accuse, 

Both  o{  false  Judgements,  and  fond  appetites  f 
What  makes  vs  do  what  Sense  doth  most  refuse? 
Which  oft  in  torment  of  the  Sense  delights  ? 

)>'  Sense    thinkes    the   planets,    spheares  not    much 
asunder; 
What  tels  vs  then  their  distance  is  so  farre? 
Sense  thinks    the   lightning   borne    before   the 

thunder; 
What  tels  vs  then  they  both  together  are? 

)C  When  men  seem  crows  far  oflfvpon  a  towre, 

Sense  saith,  th*  are  crows ;  what  makes  vs  think 

them  men  ? 
When  we  in  agues,  thinke  all  sweete  things  sowre, 
What  makes  vs  know  our  tongue's  false  iudge- 

mcnt  then? 

)  \  What  power  was  that,  whereby  Medea  saw, 

And  well  approu'd,  and  prais'd  the  better  course, 
When  her  rebellious  Sense  did  so  withdraw 
Her  feeble  powers,  as  she  pursu'd  the  worse? 

l<   Did  Sense  perswade  Vlisses  not  to  hcare 

The    mermaid's   songs,  which  so   his    men  did 

please; 
As  they  were  all  perswadcd,  through  the  eare 
To  quit  the  ship,  and  leape  into  the  seas  f 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  24) 

/I  Could  any  power  of  Sense  the  Romane  moue, 

To  burn  his  own  right  hand  with  courage  stout? 
Could    Sense  make  Mariiis  sit    vnbound,   and 

proue 
The  cruell  lancing  of  the  knotty  gout? 

t'  Doubtlesse  in  Man  there  is  a  nature  found, 
Beside  the  Senses,  and  aboue  them  farre ; 
"Though  most  men  being  in  sensuall  pleasures 

drownd, 
"  It  secmcs  their  Soiiles  but  in  their  Senses  are. 

f    If  we  had  nought  but  Sense,  then  onely  they 

Should    hauc    sound    minds,    which  haue   their 

Senses  sound  ; 
But  IVisdome  growes,  when  Senses  doe  decay, 
And  Folly  most  in  quickest  Sense  is  found. 

t*  If  we  had  nought  but  Sense,  each  liuing  wight, 

Which  we  call  drnte,  would  be  more  sharp  then 

we; 
As  hauing  Sense's  apprehensiue  might, 
In  a  more  cleere,  and  excellent  degree. 

(-"i  But  they  doe  want  that  gnicke  discoursing  power,  , 
Which  doth  in  vs  the  erring  Sense  correct; 
Therefore  the  bee  did  sucke  the  painted  flower, 
And  birds,  of  grapes,  the  cunning  shadow,  peckt. 


^44  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

^'  Sense  outsides  knows;  the  Soule  throgh  al  things 

sees; 
Sense,  circumstance;    she,   doth  the   substance 

view ; 
Sense  sees  the  barke,  but  she,  the  life  of  trees ; 
Sense  heares  the  sounds,  but  she,  the  concords 

true. 

<'^  But  why  doe  I  the  Soule  and  Sense  diuide? 

When  Sense  is  but  a  power,  which  she  extends; 
V\'hich  being  in  diuers  parts  diuersifide, 
The  diuers  formes  of  objects  apprehends? 

't  This  power  spreds  outward,  but  the  root  doth  grow 
In  th'  inward  Soule,  which  onely  doth  perceiue; 
For   th'   eyes   and  eares  no  more  their  obiects 

know, 
Then  glasses  know  what  faces  they  recciue. 

^^  For  if  we  chance  to  fixe  our  thoughts  elsewhere, 
Although  our  eyes  be  ope,  we  cannot  see ; 
And  if  one  power  did  not  both  see  and  heare, 
Our  sights  and  sounds  would  alwaycs  double  be. 

^  Then  is  the  Scule  a  nature,  which  containes 
The  powre  of  Sense,  within  a  greater  power 
Which  doth  imploy  and  vse  the  Senses  paines, 
But  sits  and  rules  within  her  priuatc  bower. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  24^ 

r)THAT  THE  SOULE  IS   MORE  THEN  THE  TEMPER- 
ATURE OF  THE  Humors  of  the  Body 

'^1   TFs/iee  doth  then  the  subtill  Sense  excell, 

How  gross  are  they  that  drown  her  in  the 
blood ! 
Or  in  the  bodie's  humors  tempred  well, 
As  if  in  them  such  high  perfection  stood? 

lo  As  if  most  skill  in  that  Musician  were, 

Which  had  the  best,  and  best  tun'd  instrument; 
As  if  the  pensill  neate  and  colours  cleare, 
Had  power  to  make  the  Painter  excellent. 

•••  Why  doth  not  beautie  then  refine  the  wit? 
And  good  complexion  rectifie  the  will? 
.    Why  doth  not  health  bring  wisdom  still  with  it? 
Why  doth  not  sicknesse  make  men  bruitish  still? 

7>  Who  can  in  monory,  or  wit,  or  will, 

Or  ayre,  or  fire,  or  earth,  or  water  finde? 
What  alchymist  can  draw,  with  all  his  skil. 
The  quintessence  of  these,  out  of  the  mind  ? 

n  If  th'  elements  which  haue  nc     'ife,  nor  sense^ 
Can  breed  in  vs  so  great  a  povvre  as  this ; 
Why  giue  they  not  themselues  like  excellence, 
Or  other  things  wherein  their  mixture  is? 


246  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

H  If  she  were  but  the  Bodie's  quaHtie 

Then  would  she  be  with  it  sicJte,  maitn'd  and 

blind; 
But  we  perceiue  where  these  priuations  be 
A  healthy,  perfect,  and  sharpe-sighted  m\nd» 

yf  If  she  the  bodie's  nature  did  pertake, 

Her  strength  would  with  the  bodie's  strength 

decay ; 
But  when  the  bodie's  strongest  sinewes  slake, 
>^    Then   is    the   Soule   most    actiue,   quicke    and 

U  If  she  were  but  the  bodie's  accident, 
And  her  sole  being  did  in  it  subsist ; 
As  zvhite  in  snow  ;  she  might  her  selfe  absent, 
And  in  the  bodie's  substance  not  be  mist. 

n  But  it  on  her,  not  shee  on  ;'/  depends ; 

For  shee  the  body  doth  sustainc  and  cherish  ; 
Such  secret  powers  of  life  to  it  she  lends, 
That    when    they   faile,   then   doth     the    body 
perish. 

'^  Since  then  the  Soule  works  by  her  selfe  alone. 

Springs  not  from  Sense,  nor  humors,  well  agreeing; 
Her  nature  is  peculiar,  and  her  owne: 
She  is  a  substance,  and  a  perfect  being. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  347 

j^  That  the  Soule  is  a  Spirit 

7t  "OtlT  though  this  substance  be  the  root  of  Sense, 
"^     Sense  knowes  her  not,  which  doth  but  bodies 
know; 
Shee  is  a  spirit,  and  heauenly  influence, 
Which  from  the  fountaine  of  God's  Spirit  doth 
flow. 

(0   Shee  is  a  Spirit,  yet  not  like  ayre,  or  winde. 

Nor  like  the  spirits  about  the  heart  or  brainc  ; 
Nor  like  those  spirits  which  alchymists  do  find. 
When  they  in  euery  thing  seeke  gold  in  vaine, 

n  For  shee  all  natures  vnder  heauen  doth  passe ; 

Being  like  those  spirits,  which  God's  bright  face 

do  see; 
Or  like  Himself e.  Whose  image  once  she  was. 
Though  now  (alas  !)  she  scarce  His  shadowhtQ. 

t*  Yet  of  \.)\Q  forvics,  she  holds  the  first  degree. 
That  are  to  grosse  materiall  bodies  knit; 
Yet  shee  her  selfe  is  bodilesse  and  free; 
'  And  though  confin'd,  is  almost  infinite. 


24S  Philosophy  in  Poetry 


\  That  it  cannot  be  a  Body 

hWere  she  a  body  how  could  she  remaine 
Within  this  body,  which  is  lesse  then  she? 
Or  how  could  she  the  world's  great  shape  contain, 
And  in  our  narrow  brests  contained  bee? 

\^A\\  bodies  are  confin'd  within  some  place, 
But  s/ie  all  place  within  her  selfe  confines; 
All  bodies  haue  their  measure,  and  their  space, 
But  who  can  draw  the  Soiile's  dimensiue  lines? 

tf  No  body  can  at  once  two  formes  admit, 
Except  the  one  the  other  doe  deface; 
But  in  the  soule  ten  thousand  formes  do  sit, 
And  none  intrudes  into  her  neighbour's  place. 

UAU  bodies  are  with  other  bodies  fild, 

But  she  recciucs  both  heauen  and  earth  together ; 
Nor  are  their  formes  by  rash  incountcr  spild, 
For  there  they  stand,  and  neither  toucheth  either. 

\)  Nor  can  her  wide  imbracements  filled  bee ; 

For  they  that  most,  and  greatest  things  embrace, 

Inlargc  thereby  their  minds'  capacitie. 

As  strcames  inlarg'd,  inlarge  the  channel's  space. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  24g 

j^  All  things  receiu'd,  doe  such  proportion  take. 

As  those  things  liaue,  wherein  they  are  receiu'd: 

So  little  glasses  little  faces  make, 

And  narrow  webs  on  narrow  frames  be  weau'd ; 

f^  Then  what  vast  body  must  we  make  the  mind 

Wherin  are  men,  beasts,  trees,  towns,  seas,  and  y 

lands; 
And  yet  each  thing  a  proper  place  doth  find, 
And  each  thing  in  the  true  proportion  stands? 

^o  Doubtlesse  this  could  not  bee,  but  that  she  turnes 
Bodies  to  spirits,  by  sublimation  strange ; , 
As  fire  conucrts  to  fire  the  things  it  burnes 
As  we  our  meats  into  our  nature  change. 

<!/  From  their  grosse  matter  she  abstracts  ih^  formes, 
And  drawes  a  kind  oi quintessence  from  things} 
Which  to  her  proper  nature  she  transformes. 
To  bear  them  light  on  her  celestiall  wings: 

It  This  doth  she,  when,  from  'Cixxvigs,  particular , 
She  doth  abstract  the  univcrsall  kinds; 
Which  bodilesse  and  immateriall  are, 
And  can  be  lodg'd  but  onely  in  our  minds; 

'I-  And  thus  from  diuers  accidents  and  acts, 
Which  doe  within  her  obseruation  fall, 
She  goddesses,  and  powers  diuine,  abstracts : 

As  Xatnrc,  For*nnc,  and  the  Vcrtucs  all. 


2^o  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

t^  Againe,  how  can  she  seuerall  iodies  know, 
If  in  her  selfe  a  bodies  forme  she  beare? 
How  can  a  mirror  sundry  faces  show, 
If  from  all  shapes  and  formes  it  be  not  cleare? 

,f  Nor  could  we  by  our  eyes  all  colours  learne, 
Except  our  eyes  were  of  all  colours  voide ; 
Nor  sundry  tastes  can  any  tongue  discerne, 
Which  is  with  grosse  and  bitter  humors  cloide. 

''L  Nor  may  a  man  o{ passions  iudge  aright, 

Except  his  minde  bee  from  all  passions  free; 
Nor  can  a  Judge  his  office  well  acquite, 
If  he  possest  of  either  partie  bee. 

'*?  If  lastly,  this  quicke  power  a  body  were, 
Were  it  as  swift  as  is  the  winde  ox  fire  ; 
(Whose  atomies  doe  th'  one   down    side-waies 

beare. 
And  make  the  other  \n  pyramids  aspire:) 

o  Her  nimble  body  yet  in  time  must  mouc, 

And  not  in  instants  through  all  places  slide; 

But  she  is  nigh,  and  farre,  beneath,  aboue, 

In  point  of  time,  which  thought  cannot  deuide: 

M  She  is  sent  as  soone  to  Chiua  as  to  Spaitie, 

And  thence  returnes,  as  soone  as  shcc  is  sent; 
She  measures  with  one  time,  and  with  one  painc, 
An  ell  of  silke,  and  heaiien's  wide  spreading  tent. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  2^1 

''*   As  then  the  SouU  a  substance  hath  alone, 

Besides  the  Body  in  which  she  is  confin'd; 
So  hath  she  not  a  doi/y  of  her  owne, 
But  is  a  spirit^  and  imviateriall  minde. 


(tTiiAT  THE  Soule  is  created  immediately 
BY  God 

/.;  Since  body  and  soule  haue  such  diuersities, 

Well  might  we  muse,  how  first  their  match  began ; 
But  that  we  learne,  that  He  that  spread  the  skies, 
And  fixt  the  Earth,  first  form'd  the  sotile  in  man. 

'•>This  true  Prometheus  first  made  Man  of  earth, 
And  shed  in  him  a  beame  of  heauenly  fire; 
Now  in  their  mother's  wombs  before  their  birth, 
Doth  in  all  sonnes  of  men  their  soules  inspire. 

,0^  And  as  Minerua  is  in  fables  said, 

From  hue,  without  a  mother  to  proceed ; 
So  our  true  louc,  without  a  mother's  ay'd, 
Doth  daily  millions  of  Minenias  breed. 


2^2  Philosophy  in  Poetry 


f|  Erronious  opinions  of  the  Creation  of 

SOULES 


T 


HEN  neither  from  eternitie  before, 
Nor  from  the  time  when  Time's  first  point 
begun ; 
Made  He  all  soules:  which  now  he  keepes  in 

store, 
Some  in  the  moone,  and  others  in  the  sunne: 

.)'  Nor  in  a  secret  cloyster  doth  Hee  keepe 

These  virgin-spirits,  vntill  their  marriage-day; 
Nor  locks  them  vp  in  chambers,  where  they 

sleep. 
Till  they  awake,  within  these  beds  of  clay. 

»  Nor  did  He  first  a  certaine  number  make, 
Infusing  part  in  beasts,  and  part  in  men, 
And,  as  vnwilling  further  paincs  to  take, 
Would  make  no  more  then  those  He  framed  then. 

■»  So  that  the  widow  Soule  her  body  dying, 
Vnto  the  next-borne  boiiy  married  was; 
And  so  by  often  changing  and  supplying, 
Mens'  soules  to  beasts,  and  beasts  to  n^cn  did 
passe. 


Of  the  Souk  of  Man  a^j 

i*i     (These  thoughts  are  fond ;   for  since  the  bodies 
borne 
Be  more  in  number  farre  then  those  that  dye; 
Thousands  must  be  abortiue,  and  forlorne, 
Ere  others'  deaths  to  them  their  soules  supply.) 

luy    But  as  God's  handmaid,  Nature,  doth  create 
Bodies  in  time  distinct,  and  order  due ; 
So  God  giues  soules  the  hke  successiue  date, 
Which  Him  selfe  makes,  in  bodies  formed  new: 

'•^    Which  Him  sclfe  makes,  of  no  matcriall  thing; 
For  vnto  angels  He  no  power  hath  giuen. 
Either  to  forme  the  shape,  or  stuffe  to  bring 
From  ayre  or  fire,  or  substance  of  the  heauen. 

„,    Nor  He  in  this  doth  Nature's  seruice  vse; 

For  though  from  bodies,  she  can  bodies  bring, 
Yet  could  she  ncuer  soules  from  Soules  traduce, 
As  fire  from  fire,  or  light  from  light  doth  spring. 

r Objection: — That  the  Soule  is  Extraduce 

f'-*-    A   LAS  !  that  some,  that  were  great  lights  of  old, 
And  in  their  hands  the  lampe  of  God  did 
beare ; 
Some  reuerend  Fathers  did  this  error  hold, 
Hauing  their  eyes  dim'd  with  religious  feare  I 


2^4  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

'  1  For  vyhen  (say  they)  by  Rule  of  Faith  we  find, 
That  euery  soule  vnto  her  body  knit, 
Brings  from  the  mother's  wombe,  the  sinne  of 

kind, 
•The  roote  of  all  the  ills  she  doth  commit 

'    How  can  we  say  that  God  the  Soule  doth  make, 
But  wo  must  make  Him  author  of  her  sinne? 
Then    from   man's    soule    she   doth    beginning 

take, 
Since  in  man's  soule  corruption  did  begin. 

r    For  if  God  make  her,  first  He  makes  her  ill, 

(Which  God    forbid  our  thoghts  should  yeeld 

vnto !) 
Or  makes  the  body  her  faire  forme  to  spill. 
Which,  of  it  selfe  it  had  no  power  to  doe. 

V.  Not  Adam's  body  but  his  soule  did  sinne 

And  so  her  selfe  vnto  corruption  brought; 

But  the  poore  soule  corrupted  is  within, 

Ere  shec  had  sinn'd,  cither  in  act,  or  thought: 

n  And  yet  we  sec  in  her  such  powres  diuinc. 

As  we  could  gladly  thinkc,//v?;w  God  site  came  ; 
Faine  would  we  make  Him  Author  of  the  wine. 
If  for  the  dregs  we  could  some  other  blame. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  255 

J  The  Answere  to  the  Obiectton 

/'/  ^'T^HUS  these  good  men  with  holy  zeale  were 
-■•       blind, 

When  on  the  other  part  the  truth  did  shine ; 
Whereof  we  doe  cleare  demonstrations  find, 
By  light  oi  Nature,  and  by  light  Diuine. 

''1    None  are  so  grosse  as  to  contend  for  this, 

That  soules  from  bodies  may  traduced  bee; 
Betweene  whose  natures  no  proportion  is. 
When  roote  and  branch  in  nature  still  agree. 

1^   But  many  subtill  wits  haue  iustifi'd. 

That  soules  from  soules  spiritually  may  spring; 
Which  (if  the  nature  of  the  soule  be  tri'd) 
Will  euen  in  Nature  proue  as  grosse  a  thing. 


„.p 


^  Reasons  drawne  from  Nature 

OR  all  things  made,  are  either  made  of  nought, 
Or  made  of  stuffe   that   ready  made   doth 
stand; 
Of  nought  no  creature  euer  formed  ought. 
For  that  is  proper  to  th'  Almightie's  hand. 


25^  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

(^v  If  then  the  sou/e  another  soi/U  doe  make, 

Because  her  power  is  kept  within  a  bound, 
Shee  must  some  former  stuffe  or  matter  take ; 
But  in  the  soule  there  is  no  matter  found. 

1^)    Then  if  her  heauenly  Forme  doe  not  agree 

With  any  matter  which  the  world  containes; 
Then  she  of  nothing  must  created  bee. 
And  to  create,  to  God  alone  pcrtaines. 

^y■\  Againe,  \(  sou/es  doe  other  soa/es  beget, 

'T  is  by  themselues,  or  by  the  bodie's  power; 
If  by  themselues,  what  doth  their  working  let, 
But  they  might  soules  engender  euery  houre? 

xvT    If  by  the  body,  how  can  wit  and  will 

loync  with  the  body  onely  in  this  act? 
Sith  when  they  doe  their  other  works  fulfill. 
They  from  the  body  doe  themselues  abstract? 

Ivv.  Againe,  \{  soules  o(  soules  begotten  were. 

Into  each  other  they  should  change  and  moue ; 
And  change  and  motion  still  corruption  bcare ; 
How  shall  wc  then  the  soule  immortall  prouc? 

t<\  If  lastly,  soules  doe  generation  vse. 

Then  should  they  spread  incorruptible  seed ; 
What  then  becomes  of  that  which  they  doc  lose, 
When  th'  acts  of  generation  doe  not  speed? 


Of  tbe  Soule  of  Man  i^j 

i>l  And  though  the  soi//e  could  cast  spirituall  seed, 
Yet  %vonld  she  not,  because  she  neuer  dies ; 
For  mortall  things  desire  their  like  to  breed, 
That  so  they  may  their  kind  immortalize. 

'^1  Therefore  the  angels,  sonnes  of  God  are  nam'd, 
And  marry  not,  nor  are  in  marriage  giuen; 
Their  spirits  and  ours  are  of  one  substance  fram'd, 
And  haue  one  Father,  eucn  the  Lord  of  heauen: 

Oj  Who  would  at  first,  that  in  each  other  thing, 

The  ear!li  and  water  liuing  sanies  should  breed; 
But  that  man's  soule  whom  He  would  make  their 

king. 
Should  from  Himselfe  immediatly  proceed. 

ijj   And  when  He  took  the  woman  from  man's  side, 
Doubtlesse  Himselfe  inspir'd  her  soule  alone; 
For  't  is  not  said.  He  did  man's  soule  diuide. 
But  took  Jles/i  of  Ills  flesJi,  bone  of  his  bone. 

'-">  Lastly,  God  being  made  Man  for  man's  ownt  sake, 
And  being  like  Man  in  all,  except  in  sin, 
His  body  from  the  virgiti's  wombe  did  take; 
But  all  agree,  God  form' d  His  soule  within. 

•  )>  Then  is  the  soule  from  God  ;   so  Pagans  say, 

Which  saw  by  Nature's  light  her  heauenly  kind ; 
Naming  her  kin  to  God,  and  God's  bright  ray, 
A  citizen  of  Heauen  to  Earth  confined. 


2^  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

'^^  But  now,  I  feele,  they  plucke  me  by  the  eare 

Whom  my  young  Muse  so  boldly  termed  blind  ; 
And  craue  more  heauenly  light,  that  cloud  toclear, 
Which  makes  them  think  God  doth  not  make 
the  mind. 

L  Reasons  drawne  from  Diuinity 

^■^^f  /^^OD  doubtlesse  makes  her,  and  doth  make  her 
^^       good, 
And  grafifes  her  in  the  body,  there  to  spring ; 
Which,  though  it  be  corrupted,. flesh  and  blood 
Can  no  way  to  the  Soule  corruption  bring: 

'^^  And  yet  this  Sonic  (made  good  by  God  at  first, 
And  not  corrupted  by  the  bodie's  ill) 
Euen  in  the  wombe  is  sinfull,  and  accurst, 
Ere  shee  can  iiuige  by  zuit  or  chnse  by  will. 

'^1  Yet  is  not  God  the  Author  of  her  sinne 

Though  Author  of  her  oeiug,  and  being  there: 
And  if  we  dare  to  iudgc  our  Fudge  herein, 
He  can  condemnc  vs,  and  Ilimsclfe  can  cleare. 

I'J  First,  God  from  infinite  etcrnitie 

Decreed,  what  hath  bccnc,  is,  or  shall  bee  done ; 
And  was  resolu'd,  that  euery  man  should  bee, 
And  in  his  turnc,  his  race  of  life  should  run: 


Of  tbe  Soule  of  M.in  2^g 

i*.^  And  so  did  purpose  all  the  soules  to  make, 
That  cuer  liaue  beene  made,  or  cuer  shall ; 
And  that  their  being  they  should  onely  take 
In  humane  bodies,  or  not  bee  at  all. 

,^  Was  it  then  fit  that  such  a  wcake  euent 

( \V\j\aknesse  it  sclfe,  —  the  sinnc  and    fall   of 

Man) 
His  counsel's  execution  should  prcuent, 
Decreed  and  fixt  before  the  World  began? 

"wi  Or  that  ona  pcnall  law  by  Adajn  broke, 

Should   make    God   breake    His   owne   etemall 

Law  ; 
The  setled  order  of  the  World  reuoke, 
And  change  all  forms  of  things,  vvhich  He  fore- 
saw? 

'<»'  Could  Eue's  weake  hand,  extended  to  the  tree, 
In  sunder  rend  that  adamantine  c/iaine, 
Whose  golden  links,  effects  and  causes  be^ 
And  which  to  God's  owne   chair  doth   fixt  re- 
maine. 

'^'  O  could  we  see,  how  cause  from  cause  dolh  spring ! 
How  mutually  they  linkt  and  folded  are ! 
And  heare  how  oft  one  disagreeing  string 
The  harmony  doth  rather  make  then  marre? 


26o  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

({^  And  view  at  once,  how  </<r^///  by  sinue  is  brought, 
And  how  from  death,  a  better  life  doth  rise, 
How  this  God's  iustice,  and  His  mercy  tought  : 
We  this  decree  would  praise,  as  right  and  wise. 

'f    But  we  that  measure  times  by  first  and  last. 
The  sight  of  things  successiuely,  doe  take; 
When  God  on  all  at  once  His  view  doth  cast, 
And  of  all  times  doth  but  one  instant  make. 

•'*  All  in  Himself e  as  in  2l  glasse  Hce  sees, 

Vox  from  Him,  by  Him,  through  Him,  all  tilings  bee: 
His  sight  is  not  discoursiue,  by  dcgrecsV 
(  But  seeing  the  whole,  each  single  part  doth  see. 

'D  Ho  lookcs  on  Adam,  as  a  root,  or  well. 

And  on  his  heires,  as  brandies,  and  as  streames  ; 
He  sees  all  men  as  one  Man,  though  they  dwell 
In  sundry  cities,  and  in  sundry  realmes: 

t  *r  And  as  the  roote  and  branch  are  but  one  tree, 

And  well  and  streame  doe  but  one  riuer  make ; 

So,  if  the  root  and  well  corrupted  bee, 

The  streame  and  branch\.\\Q  same  corruption  take : 

v\  So,  when  the  root  and  fountaine  of  Mankind 

Did  draw  corruption,  and  God's  curse,  by  sin; 
This  was  a  charge  that  all  his  heires  did  bind, 
And  all  his  offspring  grew  corrupt  therein. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  261 

'>  And  a.'5  when  the  hand  doth  strike,  the  Man  offends, 
( For  fart  from  whole,  Law  setters  not  in  this) 
So  Adam's  sinne  to  the  whole  kind  extends; 
For  all  their  natures  are  but  part  of  his. 

,f)   Therefore  this  sinne  of  kind,  not  personal!. 
But  reall  and  hereditary  was; 
The  guilt  whereof,  and  punishment  to  all. 
By  course  of  Nature,  and  of  Law  doth  passe. 

r>^   For  as  that  easie  Law  was  giuen  to  all. 

To  ancestor  and  heire,  to  first  and  last; 
So  was  the  first  transgression  generall, 
And  all  did  plucke  the  fruit  and  all  did  tast. 

,;>  Of  this  we  find  some  foot-steps  in  our  Law, 

Which  doth  her  root  from  God  and  Nature  take ; 
Ten  thousand  men  she  doth  together  draw. 
And  of  them  all,  one  Corporation  make: 

(S  Yet  these,  and  their  successors,  are  but  one, 
And  if  they  gaine  or  lose  their  liberties; 
They  harme,  or  profit  not  themselues  alone, 
But  such  as  in  succeeding  times  shall  rise. 

<;>'  And  so  the  ancestor,  and  all  his  heires, 

Though  they  in  number  passe  the  stars  of  heauen 
Are  still  but  one;   his  forfeitures  are  theirs, 
And  vnto  them  are  his  aduancements  giuen: 


^ 


262  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

/.•  His  ciuill  acts  doe  binde  and  bar  them  all; 
And  as  from  Ac/am,  all  corruption  take, 
So,  if  the  father's  crime  be  capitall 
In  all  the  bloud.  Law  doth  corruption  make. 

1-7  Is  it  then  iust  with  vs,  to  dis-inherit 

The  vnborn  ncphewes  for  the  father's  fault? 
And  to  aduance  againe  for  one  man's  merit, 
A  thousand  heires,  that  have  deserved  nought? 

^sS  And  is  not  God's  decree  as  iust  as  ours, 

If  He,  for  AdattCs  sinnc,  his  sonncs  dcpriue, 
Of  all  those  natiue  vertues,  and  those  powers, 
Which  He  to  him,  and  to  his  race  did  giue? 

'•^  For  what  is  this  contagious  sinne  of  kinde 
But  a  priuation  of  that  grace  within? 
And  of  that  great  rich  dowry  of  the  minde 
Which  all  had  had,  but  for  the  first  man's  sin? 

'^  If  then  a  man,  on  light  conditions  gaine 
A  great  estate,  to  him  and  his,  for  cucr; 
If  wilfully  he  forfeit  it  againe 
Who  doth  bemone  his  heire  or  blame  the  giuer? 

l"**  So^,  though  God  make  the  Soule  good,  rich  and  faire, 
Yet  when  her  forme  is  to  the  body  knit. 
Which  makes  the  Man,  which  man  is  Adam*: 

luire 
lustly  forth-with  He  takes  His  grace  from  it: 


Of  tbe  Soule  of  Man  26 J 

'■•^And    then    the    soule    being    first    from    nothing 
brought, 
When  God's  grace  failes  her,  doth  to  nothing  fall ; 
And  this  declining pronenesse  unto  nought. 
Is  euen  that  sinne  that  we  are  borne  withall. 

'■"^  Yet  not  alone  the  first  good  qualities, 

Which  in  the  first  soule  were,  dcpriu^d  are ; 
But  in  their  place  the  contrary  doe  rise, 
And  reall  spots  of  sinne  her  beauty  marre. 

/»y  Nor  is  it  strange,  that  Adam's  ill  dcsart 

Should  be  transferd  vnto  his  guilty  Race; 
When  Christ  His  grace  and  iustice  doth  impart 
To  men  vniust,  and  such  as  haue  no  grace. 

.1^  Lastly,  the  Soule  were  better  so  to  bee 

Borne  slaue  to  sinne,  then  not  to  be  at  all; 
Since  (if  she  do  belieue)  One  sets  her  free, 
That  makes  her  mount  the  higher  for  her  fall. 

'^"-  Yet  this  the  curious  wits  will  not  content; 

They  yet  will  know  (sith  God  foresaw  this  ill) 
Why  His  high  Prouidence  did  not  preuent 
The  declination  of  the  first  man's  will. 

n7   If  by  His  Word  He  had  the  current  staid 

Oi  AdavCs  will,  which  was  by  nature  free; 
It  had  bene  one,  as  if  His  Word  had  said, 
I  will  henceforth  that  Man  no  man  shall  bee. 


264  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

o»   For  what  is  Man  without  a  moouing  mind, 

Which  hath  a  iudging  wit,  and  chusing  will? 
Now,  if  God's  power  should  her  election  bind, 
Her  motions  then  would  cease  and  stand  all  still. 

,in  And  why  did  God  in  man  this  soule  infuse, 

JJut  that  he  should  his  Maker  know  and  hue  f 
Now,  \UoHe  be  compcld  and  cannot  chuse, 
How  can  it  gratcfull  or  thankevvorthy  proue? 

"*    Loue  must  free-hearted  be,  and  voluntary, 

And  not  enchanted,  or  by  Fate  constraind ; 
Nor  like  that  loue,  which  did  Ulisses  carry, 
To  Circe's  ile,  with  mighty  charmcs  enchaind. 

**'  Besides,  were  we  vnchangeable  in  will, 

And  of  a  w/V  that  nothing  could  mis-deeme; 
Equall  to  God,  Whose  wisedome  shincth  still, 
And  neuer  erres,  we  might  our  selues  esteeme. 

**   So  that  if  Man  would  be  vnuariable. 

He  must  be  God,  or  like  a  rock  or  tree; 
F'or  eucn  the  perfect  Angels  were  not  stable. 
But  had  a  fall  more  desperate  then  wee. 

><^  Then  let  vs  praise  that  Power,  which  makes  vs  be 
Men  as  we  are,  and  rest  contented  so; 
And  knowing  Man's  fall  was  curiositie. 
Admire  God's  counsels,  which  we  cannot  know. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  26^ 

u*  And  let  vs  know  that  God  the  Maker  is 
Of  all  the  Souh's,  in  all  the  men  that  be : 
Yet  their  corruption  is  no  fault  of  His, 
But  the  first  man's  that  broke  God's  first  decree. 

r;  Why  the  Soule  is  United  to  the  Body 


"T 


HIS  substance,  and  this  spirit  of  God's  owne 


making. 


Is  in  the  body  plact,  and  planted  heere; 
"That  both  of  God,  and  of  the  world  partakings 
"  Of  all  that  is,  Man  might  the  image  beare. 

»»b  God  first  made  angels  bodilesse,  pure  minds, 

Then  other  things,  which  mindlesse  bodies  be; 
Last,  He  made  Man,  th'  horizon  'twixt  both  kinds, 
In  whom  we  doe  the  World's  abridgement  see. 

"'  Besides,  this  World  below  did  need  one  wight. 
Which  might  thereof  distinguish  euery  part; 
Make  vse  thereof,  and  take  therein  delight, 
And  order  things  with  industry  and  art: 

<a  Which  also  God  might  in  His  works  admire, 

And  here  beneath,  yeeld  Him  both  praier  and 

praise; 
As  there,  aboue,  the  holy  angels  quire 
Doth  spread  His  glory  with  spirituall  layes. 


266  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

iK  y  Lastly,  the  bruite,  unreasonable  wights, 

Did  want  a  visible  king  on  them  to  raigne : 
And  God,  Hinisclfe  thus  to  the  World  vnites. 
That  so  the  World  might  endlesse  blisse  obtaine. 

f/  In  what  manner  the  Soule  is  united  to 
THE  Body 


i<i\) 


B 


UT  how  shall  we  this  union  well  expresse? 
Nought  ties  the  soule ;  her  subtiltie  is  such 
She  moucs  the  bodie,  which  she  doth  possesse, 
Yet  no  part  touchcth,  but  by  Vertue's  touch. 

til  Then  dwels  shee  not  therein  as  in  a  tent, 
Nor  as  a  pilot  in  his  ship  doth  sit; 
Nor  as  the  spider  in  his  web  is  pent; 
Nor  as  the  waxe  retaines  the  print  in  it; 

fi'^Nor  as  a  vesscll  water  doth  containe; 
Nor  as  one  liquor  in  another  shed ; 
Nor  as  the  heat  doth  in  the  fire  remaine; 
Nor  as  a  voice  throughout  the  ayre  is  spread: 

•^'  But  as  the  faire  and  cheerfull  Morning  light, 

Doth  here  and  there  her  siluer  beames  impart, 
And  in  an  instant  doth  herselfe  vnite 
To  the  transparent  ayre,  in  all,  and  part: 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  267 

''  Still  resting  whole,  when  blowcs  th'  ayre  diuide; 
Abiding  pure,  when  th'  ayre  is  most  corrupted; 
Throughout  the  ayre,  her  beams  dispersing  wide, 
And  when  the  ayre  is  tost,  not  interrupted : 

/v  So  doth  the  piercing  Sou/e  the  body  fill, 
Being  all  in  all,  and  all  in  part  dififus'd ; 
Indiuisible,  incorruptible  still, 
Not  forc't,  encountred,  troubled  or  confus'd. 

;^i,  And  as  the  sunnc  abouc,  the  light  doth  bring, 
Though  we  behold  it  in  the  ayre  below; 
So  from  th'  Eternall  Light  the  Soule  doth  spring, 
Though  in  the  body  she  her  powers  doe  show. 

0  How  THE  Soul  doth  exercise  her  Powers 
IN  THE  Body 

t\-\  "YyUT as  the  world's  sunne  doth  effects  beget, 
•^     Diuers,  in  diuers  places  euery  day; 
Here  ^«/;/;«;;^^  temperatu  re,  there  5«ww^r'j  heat, 
Here  flowry  Spring-tide^  and  there  Winter  gray : 

/■/<  Eere  Eiien,  there  Monie,  here  Noone,  there  Day, 

there  Night  ; 
Melts    wax,    dries    clay,    mak[e]s    flowrs,    som 

quick,  som  dead ; 
Makes  the  More  black,  and  th'  Europcean  white, 
Th'  America7i  tawny,  and  th'  East-Indian  red: 


268  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

'11  So  in  our  little  World :  this  sou/e  of  ours, 
Being  onely  one,  and  to  one  body  tyed, 
Doth  vse,  on  diuers  obiccts  diuers  powers, 
And  so  are  her  effects  diucrsified. 


^^The  Vegetatiue  or  quickening  Power 

]^.i'  T  TER  quick'tiing  power  in  euery  lining  part, 
Doth  as  a  nurse,  or  as  a  mother  serue; 
And  doth  employ  her  oeconomicke  art, 
And  busie  care,  her  houshold  to  preserue. 

V^'   Here  she  attracts,  and  there  she  doth  retaiue. 

There  she  decocts,  and  doth  the  food  prepare; 
There  she  distributes  it  to  euery  vaine. 
There  she  expels  what  she  may  fitly  spare. 

^"^This  power  to  Martha  may  compared  be, 

Which  busie  was,  the  houshold-things  to  doe; 

Or  to  a  Dryas,  liuing  in  a  tree: 

For  euen  to  trees  this  power  is  proper  too. 

^*    And  though  the  Soule  may  not  this  power  extend 
Out  of  the  body,  but  still  vse  it  there; 
She  hath  a  power  which  she  abroad  doth  send, 
Which   views    and    scarcheth    all   things    euery 
where. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  269 


^  The  power  of  Sense 

'idi^'ir^HIS  power  is  Sense,  which  from  abroad  doth 
bring 
The  colour,  taste,  and  touch,  and  sent,  and  sound ; 
The  quantitie,  and  shape  of  euery  thing 
Within  th'   Earth's  center,  or    Heauen's  circle 
found. 

'*^This  power,  in  parts  made  fit,  fit  obiects  takes, 

Yet  not  the  things,  but  forms  of  things  receiues ; 
As  when  a  scale  in  waxe  impression  makes. 
The  print  therein,  but  not  it  selfe  it  leaues. 

vt  And  though  things  sensible  be  numberlesse, 
But  onely  fiue  the  Senses'  organs  be; 
And  in  those  fiue,  all  things  their    formes  ex- 

pressc. 
Which  we  can  touch,  taste,  feele,  or  heare,  or  see» 

W  These    are   the   windows    throgh    the   which   she 
views 
The  light  of  knowledge,  which  is  life's  loadstar: 
"  And  yet  while  she  these  spectacles  doth  vse, 
"  Oft  worldly  things  seeme  greater  then  they  are. 


2^0  Philosophy  in  Poetry 


I  Sight 

>""'  Tj^IRST,  the  two  eyes  that  haue  the  seeing'  power, 
Stand  as  one  watchman,  spy,  or  sentinell; 
Being  plac'd  aloft,  within  the  head's  high  tower; 
And  though  both  see,  .yet  both  but  one  thing  tell. 

)u1  These  mirrors  take  into  their  little  space 

The  formes  of  moone  and  sun,  and  euery  starre  ; 
Of  euery  body  and  of  euery  place, 
Which  with  the  World's  wide  armes  embraced 
are: 

Yet  their  best  obiect,  and  their  noblest  vse, 
Hereafter  in  another  World  will  be ; 
When  God  in  them  shall  heauenly  light  infuse, 
That  face  to  face  they  may  their  A  faker  see. 

Here  are  they  guides,  which  <loe  the  body  lead, 
Which  else  would  stumble  in  eternal  night; 
Here   in   this  world   they  do   much   knowledge 

read, 
And  are  the  casements  which  admit  most  light: 

They  are  her  farthest  reaching  instrument, 

Yet  they  no  beames  vnto  their  obiects  send ; 
-  But  all  the  rays  are  from  their  obiects  sent. 
And  in  the  eyes  with  pointed  angles  end: 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  271 

*'^If  th'  obiects  be  farre  off,  the  rayes  doe  meet 

In  a  sharpe  point,  and  so  things  seeme  but  small ; 
If  they  be  necre,  their  rayes  doe  spread  and  fleet, 
And  make  broad  points,  that  things  seeme  great 
withall. 

;/^  Lastly,  nine  things  to  Sight  required  are; 

The  power  to  see,  the  light,  the  visible  thing, 
Being  not  too  small,  too  thin,  too  ftigh,  X.00  farre ^ 
Cleare  space,   and  time,   the  forme   di.Jtinct  to 
bring. 

i'  Thus  we  see  how  the  Soule  doth  vse  the  eyes, 
As  instruments  of  her  quicke  power  of  sight; 
Hence  do  th'  Arts  opticke  and  faire  painting  rise : 
Painting,  which  doth  all  gentle  minds  delight. 


"N 


iJHearing 

OW  let  vs  heare  how  she  the  Fares  imployes : 
Their  office  is  the  troubled  ayre  to  take, 
Which  in  their  mazes  formes  a  sound  or  noyse. 
Whereof  her  selfe  doth  true  distinction  make. 


v>^,J^hese  wickets  of  the  Soule  are  plac't  on  hie 
Because  all  sounds  doc  lightly  mount  aloft; 
And  that  they  may  not  pierce  too  violently, 
They  are  delaied  with  turnes,  and  windings  oft. 


27^  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

:'>  For  should  the  voice  directly  strike  the  braine, 
Ic  would  astonish  and  confuse  it  much; 
Therfore  these  plaits  and   folds  the  sound  re- 

straine, 
That  it  the  organ  may  more  gently  touch. 

ji  As  streames,  which  with  their  winding  banks  doe 

play, 
Stopt  by  their  creeks,  run  softly  through  the 

plaine ; 
So  in  th'  Eares'  labyrinth  the  voice  doth  stray, 
And  doth  with  easic  motion  touch  the  braine. 

■^'   It  is  the  slowest,  yet  the  daintiest  sense; 

For  eucn  the  Eares  of  such  as  haue  no  skill, 
I  Perceiue  a  discord,  and  conceiue  offence; 
I  And  knowing  not  what  is  good,  yet  find  the  ill. 

^"»^And  though  this  srnse  first  gentle  Miisickc  found, 
Her  proper  obiect  is  the  spcccJi  of  men  ; 
But  that  speech  chiefely  which  God's  heraulds 

sound, 
When  their  tongs  vtter  what  His  Spirit  did  pen. 

^^  Our  Eyes  haue  lids,  our  Eares  still  ope  we  see. 
Quickly  to  heare  how  euery  tale  is  proou6d ; 
Our  Eyes  still  mouc,  our  Eares  vnmou6d  bee. 
That  though  we  hear  quick  we  be  not  quickly 
mou6d. 


OJ  the  Soule  of  Man  2y) 

^,vThus  by  the  organs  of  the  Eye  and  Eare, 

The  Soule  with  knowledge  doth  her  selfe  endue ; 
"  Thus  she  her  prison,  may  with  pleasure  beare, 
"  Hauing  such  prospects,  all  the  world  to  view. 

y»>  These  conduit-pipes  of  knowledge  feed  the  Mind, 
But  th'  other  three  attend  the  Body  still ; 
For  by  their  seruices  the  Soule  doth  find, 
What  things  are  to  the  body,  good  or  ill. 

•J^  Taste 

^^^^  I  ""HE  bodie's  life  with  meats  and  ayre  is  fed, 

Therefore  the  J(3«/^  doth  vse  the  tasting  power, 
In  veines,  which  through  the  tongue  and  palate 

spred, 
Distinguish  euery  relish,  sweet  and  sower. 

i*^  This  is  the  bodie's  nurse;  but  since  man's  wit 
Found  th'  art  o{  cookery,  to  delight  his  sense  ; 
More  bodies  are  consum'd  and  kild  with  it, 

^^     ,    Then  with  the  sword,  famine,  or  pestilence. 

u   Smelling 

y>t  'VT^'^J',  in  the  nosthrils  she  doth  vse  the  smell: 
As  God  the  breath  of  life  in  them  did  giue, 
So  makes  He  now  this  power  in  them  to  dwell, 

To  iudge  all  ayres,  whereby  we  breath  and  Hue. 

18 


274  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

i^lThis  sense  is  also  mistresse  of  an  Art, 

Which  to  soft  people  sweete  perfumes  doth  sell  ; 
Though  this  deare  Art  doth  little  good  impart, 
"Sith  they  smell  best,  that  doc  of  nothing  smell. 

V*    And  yet  good  sents  doe  purifie  the  braine, 
Awake  the  fancie,  and  the  wits  refine ; 
Hence  old  Deuotion,  incense  did  ordaine 
To  make  mens'  spirits  apt  for  thoughts  diuine. 


L 


r  Feeling 

ASTLY,   the  feeling  power,  which  is   Life's 
root, 

Through  euery  liuing  part  it  selfe  doth  shed; 
By  sinewes,  which  extend  from  head  to  foot, 
And  like  a  net,  all  ore  the  body  spred. 

^■'  Much  like  a  subtill  spider,  which  doth  sit 

In  middle  of  her  web,  which  spreadeth  wide; 
If  ought  doe  touch  the  vtmost  thred  of  it, 
Shee  fceles  it  instantly  on  euery  side. 

"v^'By  Touch,  the  first  pure  qualities  we  learne, 

Which  quicken  all  things,  hote,  cold,  moist,  and 

dry  ; 
By  Touch,  hard,  soft,  rough,  smooth,  we  doe  dis- 

cerne ; 
By  Touch,  sweet  pleasure,  and  sharpe  paine,  we  try. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  2y$ 

viy  'T^HESE  are  the  outward  instruments  of  Sense, 
These   are   the    guards   which   euery   thing 
must  passe 
Ere  it  approch  the  mind's  intelligence, 
Or  touch  the  Fantasie,  Wit's  looking-glasse. 


c  The  Imagination  or  Common  Sense 


'"A 


ND  yet  these  porters,  which  all  things  admit, 
Themsclues  perceiue  not,  nor  discerne  the 
things ; 
One  common  power  doth  in  the  forehead  sit, 
Which  all  their  proper  formes  together  brings. 

x\>\  For  all  those  ticrucs,  which  spirits  of  Scnce  doe 

beare, 
And  to  those  outward  organs  spreading  goe; 
Vnited  are,  as  in  a  center  there. 
And  there  this  power  those  sundry  formes  doth 

know. 

>'»'  Those  outward  organs  present  things  receiue. 
This  inward  Sense  doth  absent  things  retaine ; 
Yet  straight  transmits  all  formes  shee  doth  per- 
ceiue, 
Vnto  a  higher  region  of  the  braine. 


276  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

1  The  Fantasie 

.vj.  "1 T /"HERE  Fantasie,  neere  hand-maid  to   the 
mind, 
Sits  and  beholds,  and  doth  discerne  them  all; 
Compounds  in  one,  things  diuers  in  their  kind ; 
Compares  the    black  and  white,  the  great  and 
small. 

yj^  Besides,  those  single  formes  she  doth  esteeme, 
And  in  her  ballance  doth  their  values  trie; 
Where  some  things  good,  and  some  things  ill 

doe  seem. 
And  neutrall  some,  in  \\er  fantasticke  eye. 

^i  This  busie  power  is  working  day  and  night ; 
For  when  the  outward  senses  rest  doe  take, 
A  thou:5and  dreames,  fantasticall  and  light. 
With  f^uttring  wings  doe  keepe  her  still  awake. 

L  The  Sensitiue  Memorie 


jj^TT'ET  alwayes  all  may  not  afore  her  bee; 

Successiuely,  she  this  and  that  intends; 
Therefore    such    formes   as  she  doth   cease   to 

see, 
To  Memorie's  large  volume  shee  commends. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  277 

'^^"The  lidger-hooke  lies  in  the  braine  behinde, 
Like  lanus'  eye,  which  in  his  poll  was  set ; 
The  lay-vtans  Uxbles^  store-house  of  the  mind^ 
Which  doth  remember  much,  and  much  forget. 

i^'  Heere  Sense's  apprehension,  end  doth  take ; 
As  when  a  stone  is  into  water  cast, 
One  circle  doth  another  circle  make, 
Till  the  last  circle  touch  the  banke  at  last. 

L  The  Passions  of  Sense 

lV^TJUT  i.iough  the  apprehensiue power  doe  pause, 
"^     The  motiue  vertue  then  begins  to  moue ; 
Which  in  the  heart  below  doth  PASSIONS  cause, 
Toy,  grief e,  and  feare,  and  hope,  and  hate,  and  /one. 

t^'i  These  passions  haue  a  free  commanding  might. 
And  diuers  actions  in  our  life  doe  breed; 
For,  all  acts  done  \vithout  true  Reason's  light, 
Doe  from  the  passion  of  the  Sense  proceed. 

7,^1  But  sith  the  draine  doth,  lodge  the  powers  of  Sense, 
How  makes  it  in  the  heart  those  passions  spring? 
The  mutuall  loue,  the  kind  intelligence 
'Twixt   heart   and    braine,  this    sympathy  doth 
bring. 


2^8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

v-*''  From  the  kind  heat,  which  in  the  heart  doth  raigne, 
The  spirits  of  life  doe  their  begining  take; 
These  spirits  of  life  ascending  to  the  braine, 
When  they  come  there,  the  spirits  of  Sense  do 
make. 

"^     These  spirits  of  Sense,  in  Fantasie's  High  Court, 
ludge  of  the  formes  oiobiccts,  ill  or  well; 
And  so  they  send  a  good  or  ill  report 
Downe  to  the  heart,  where  all  affections  dwell. 

^«>1  If  the  report  hcc  good,  it  causeth  hue, 

And  longing  /lope,  and  well-assured  ioy: 

If  it  bee  ;//,  then  doth  it  hatred  moue, 

And  trembling  feare,  and  vexing  griefes  annoy. 

Yet  were  these  naturall  affections  good : 

(For  they  which  want  them,  blockes  or  deiiils  be) 
\{ Reason  in  her  first  perfection  stood, 
That  she  might  Nature's  passions  rectifie. 

Jf'TuE  Motion  of  Life 

;\*^  "OESIDES,  another  niotiue-power  doth  rise 
"^     Out  of  the  heart;    from  whose  pure  blood 
do  spring 
The  vita//  spirits  ;  which,  borne  in  arteries, 
Continuall  motion  to  all  parts  doe  bring. 


^^^nr^ 


Of  tbe  Soule  of  Man  2yg 


A  The  Locall  Motion 

HIS  makes  the  pulses  beat,  and  lungs  respire, 
This  holds  thesinewes  like  a  bridle's  reines; 
And  makes  the  Body  to  aduance,  retire, 
To    turne    or    stop,    as    she    them   slacks,    or 
straines. 

^j'  Thus  the  sonic  tunes  the  bodie's  instrument; 

These  harmonies  she  makes  with  life  and  sense  ; 

The  organs  fit  are  by  the  body  lent, 

But  th'  actions  flow  from  the  Soitle's  influence. 


;  The  ixtellectuall  Powers  of  the  Soule 

^i"*  "D  ^^  1^0'M  I  haue  a  willt  yet  want  a  ^vit, 

"^     To  expresse  the  working  of  the   wit  and 
will  ; 
Which,  though  their  root  be  to  the  body  knit, 
Vse  not  the  body,  when  they  vse  their  skill. 

^^3  These  powers  the  nature  of  the  Soule  declare, 
For  to  man's  soule  these  onely  proper  bee; 
For  on  the  Earth  no  other  wights  there  are 
That  haue  these  heauenly  powers,  but  only  we. 


28o  Philosophy  in  Poetry 


^  The  Wit  or  Understanding 

-v  'T^HE  Wit,  the  pupill  of  the  Sou/e's  cleare  eye, 
And   in    man's   world,   the    onely   shining 
starre; 
Lookes  in  the  mirror  of  the  Fantasie, 
\  Where  all  the  gatherings  of  the  Senses  are. 

^1  From  thence  this  power  the  shapes  of  things  ab- 
stracts, 
And  them  within  her  />assiue  part  recelues; 
Which  are  enlightned  by  that  part  which  ac/s, 
And  so  the  formes  of  single  things  perceiues. 

,5 'But  after,  by  discoursing  to  and  fro, 
Anticipating,  and  comparing  things; 
She  doth  all  vnivcrsall  natures  know, 
And  all  cj^ccis  into  their  causes  brings. 


\^  Reason,  Vnderstanding 

\X7HEN    she   rates    things    and    moues    from 
!  ground  to  ground. 

The  name  of  Reason  she  obtaines  by  this ; 
But  when  by  Reason  she  the  truth  hatb  found, 
And  standeth  Jixt,  she  Vnderstanding  is. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  281 

JL  Opinion,  Judgement 

>' ' 'XTT'HEN  her  assent  she  lightly  doth  encHne 
To  either  part,  she  is  OPINION  light: 
But  when  she  doth  by  principles  define 
A  certaine    truth,  she    hath    true  Judgement's 
sight. 

J    And  as  from  Senses,  Reason's  worke  doth  spring, 
So  many  reasons  understanding  gaine ; 
And  many  lotdcrstandings,  knowledge  bring; 
And  by  much  knowledge,  wisdome  we  obtaine. 

XjO  So,  many  stayres  we  must  ascend  vpright 
Ere  we  attaine  to  Wisdome' s  high  degree; 
So  doth  this  Earth  eclipse  our  Reason's  light. 
Which  else  (in  instants)  would  like  angels  see. 

ikl  Yet  hath  the  Soule  a  dowrie  naturall, 

And  sparkes  of  light,  some  common  things  to 

see; 
Not  being  a  blancke  where  nought  is  writ  at  all, 
But  what  the  writer  will,  may  written  be 

\.-»  For  Nature  in  man's  heart  her  lawes  doth  pen; 
Prescribing  trutJi  to  wit,  and  good  to  will : 
Which  doe  accuse,  or  else  excuse  all  men. 
For  euery  thought  or  practise,  good  or  ill : 


282  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

^C)  And  yet  these  sparkes  grow  almost  infinite, 

Making  the  World,  and  all  therein  their  food; 
As  fire  so  spreads  as  no  place  holdeth  it, 
Being  nourisht  still,  with  new  supplies  of  wood. 

^f  And  though  these  sparkes  were  almost  quencht 
with  sin, 
Yet  they  whom  that  lusi  Ottc  hath  iustifide ; 
Haue  them  encreasd  with  heauenly  light  within, 
And  like  the  widowers  oyle  still  multiplide. 


r^  The  Power  of  Will 

,     A  ND  as  this  wit  should  goodnesse  truely  know, 
•*  •*'     We   haue   a    Will,  which    that   true   good 
should  chuse ; 
Though  Wil  do  oft  (when  wit  false  formes  doth 

show) 
Take  ill  for  good^  and  good  for  ///  refuse. 


re-  The  Relations  betwixt  Wit  and  Will 

'i^^'lT /"/ZZ  puts  in  practice  what  the  Wit  deuiseth; 
Will  euer  acts,  and  Wit  contemplates  still ; 
And  as  from  Wity  the  power  of  wiscdome  riseth. 
All  other  vertues  daughters  are  of  Will. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  28) 

i.-)WiU  is  the  prince,  and  IVi/  the  counseller, 

Which  doth  for  common  good  in  Counsell  sit; 
And  when  Wi/  is  rcsolu'd,  Wi/l  lends  her  power 
To  execute  what  is  aduis'd  by  Wit. 

^    Wit  is  the  mind's  chief  iudge,  which  doth  controule 
Of  Fancies   Court   the  iudgcments,   false   and 

vaine ; 
Will  holds  the  royall  septer  in  the  soule 
And  on  the  passions  of  the  heart  doth  raigne. 

>)  Will  is  as  free  as  any  emperour, 

Naught  can  restraine  \\cr  gentle  libertie; 
No  tyrant,  nor  no  torment,  hath  the  power, 
To  make  vs  zuill,  when  we  vnwilling  bee. 


70 


o   The  Intellectuall  Memorie 

'  I  ''O  these  high  powers,  d  store-house  doth  per- 
taine. 
Where  they  all  arts  and  generall  reasons  lay; 
Which  in  the  Soule,  eucn  after  death,  remaine 
And  no  Lethcsan  flood  can  wash  away. 

This  is  the  Soule,  and  these  her  vertues  bee; 
Which,  though  they  haue  their  sundry  proper 

ends, 
And  one  exceeds  another  in  degree, 
Yet  each  on  other  mutually  depends. 


284  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

t]V  Our  Wit  is  giuen,  Almighty  GodXa  know  ; 

Our  Will  is  giuen  to  loue  Him,  being  knowne  ; 
But  God  could  not  be  known  to  vs  below, 
But  by  His  workes  which  through  the  sense  are 
shown. 

^   And  as  the  Wit  doth  reape  the  fruits  of  Sense, 
So  doth  the  quick ning  power  the  senses  feed ; 
Thus  while  they  doe  their  sundry  gifts  dispence, 
*'  The  best,  the  seruice  of  the  least  doth  need. 

^•{  Euen  so  the  King  his  Magistrates  do  serue, 

Yet  Commons  feed  both  magistrate  and  king; 
The  Commons'  peace  the  magistrates  preserue 
By  borrowed  power,  which  from  the  Prince  doth 
spring. 

^7^    The  quickning power  would  be,  and  so  would  rest; 
The  Sense  would  not  be  onely,  but  be  well ; 
But  Wit's  ambition  longeth  to  the  best, 
For  it  desires  in  endlesse  blisse  to  dwell. 

,*1^  And  these  three  powers,  three  sorts  of  men  doe 

make: 
For  some,  like  plants,  their  veines  doe  onely  fill; 
And    some,  like   beasts,  their   senses'   pleasure 

take; 
And  some,  like  angels,  doe  contemplate  still. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  28^ 

t')'^  Therefore  the  fables  turnd  some  men  to  flowres, 
And  others,  did  with  bruitish  formes  inuest; 
And  did  of  others,  make  celestiall  powers, 
Like  angels,  which  still  trauell,  yet  still  rest. 

y;)i  Yet  these  three  powers  are  not  three  soules,  but 
one ; 
As  one  and  two  are  both  containd  in  three ; 
Three  being  one  number  by  it  sclfe  alone: 
A  shadow  of  the  blessed  Trinitie. 


f 


An  Acclamation 


<lT^{^  I  what  is  Man  (great  Maker  of  mankind  !) 
^^^     That  Thou  to  him  so  great  respect  dost 
beare ! 
That  Thou  adornst  him  with  so  bright  a  mind, 
Mak'st  him  a  king,  and  euen  an  angel's  peere ! 

l,,o  O  !  what  a  liuely  life,  what  heauenly  power, 

What  spreading  vertue,  what  a  sparkling  fire ! 
How  great,  how  plentifull,  how  rich  a  dower 
Dost  Thou  within  this  dying  flesh  inspire  I 

|ii  Thou  leau'st  Thy  print  in  other  works  of  Thine, 
But  Thy  whole  image  Thou  in  Man  hast  writ; 
There  cannot  be  a  creature  more  diuine, 
Except  (like  Thee)  it  should  be  infinit. 


2S6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

j^v/V  But  it  exceeds  man's  thought,  to  thinke  how  hie 
God  hath  raisd  Man,  since  God  a  man  became; 
The  angels  doe  admire  this  Misterie, 
And  are  astonisht  when  they  view  the  same. 


Q^  That  the  Soule  is  Immortal,  and  cannot 

Die 

yO  "VTOR  hath  He  giuen  these  blessings  for  a  day, 
Nor  made  them  on  the  bodie's  life  depend ; 
The  Soule  though  made  in  time,  s untiles  /or  aye, 
And  though  it  hath  beginning,  sees  no  end. 

vt   Her  onely  end,  is  ncuer-ending  blisse ; 

Which  is,  th'  ctcrnall  face  of  God  to  see; 
Who  Last  of  Ends,  and  First  of  Causes,  is: 
And  to  doc  this,  she  must  ctcrnall  bee. 

How  senselesse  then,  and  c^cad  a  soule  hath  hee, 
Which  thinks  his  soule  doth  with  his  body  die  ! 
Or  thinkes  not  so,  but  so  would  haue  it  bee. 
That  he  might  sinne  with  more  securitie. 

->kv  For  though  these  light  and  vicious  persons  say. 
Our  Soule  is  but  a  smoake,  or  ayrie  blast; 
Which,  during  life,  doth  in  our  nostrils  play, 
And  when  we  die,  doth  turne  to  wind  at  last: 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  287 

^s"7Althoiigh  they  say,  *Comf  let  us  eat  and drinke* ; 
Our  life  is  but  a  sparke,  which  quickly  dies; 
Though  thus  they  j^^',  they  know  not  what  to  think, 
But  in  their  minds  ten  thousand  doubts  arise. 

>r»    Therefore  no  heretikes  desire  to  spread 

Their  light  opinions,  like  these  Epicures: 
For  so  the  staggering  thoughts  are  comforted, 
And  other  men's  assent  their  doubt  assures. 

Yet   though   these    men  against  their  conscience 
stnue, 
There  are  some  sparkles  in*  their  flintie  breasts 
Which  cannot  be  extinct,  but  still  reuiue ; 
That  though  they  would,  they  cannot  quite  bee 
beasts  ; 

lC^y  But  who  so  makes  a  mirror  of  his  mind, 

And  doth  with  patience  view  himselfe  therein, 
His  Soule  s  eternitie  shall  clearely  find. 
Though  th'  other  beauties  be  defac't  with  sin. 

Reason  I 
Drawne  from  the  desire  of  Knowledge 
Vi,i  T?IRST  /';;  Man's  mind  we  find  an  appetite 

To  learne  and  knoio  tJie  trutJi  of  euery  thing ; 
Which  is  co-naturall,  and  borne  with  it, 
And  from  the  essence  of  the  soule  doth  spring. 


288  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

^^  With  this  desire,  shee  hath  a  natiue  might 
To  find  out  euery  truth,  if  she  had  time; 
Th'  innumerable  effects  to  sort  aright, 
And  by  degrees,  from  cause  to  cause  to  clitne. 

^•"j:?  But  sith  our  life  so  fast  away  doth  slide, 

As  doth  a  hungry  eagle  through  the  wind, 

Or  as  a  ship  transported  with  the  tide ; 

Which  in  their  passage  leaue  no  print  behind ;   . 

^Of  which  swift  little  time  so  much  we  spend, 

While  some  few  things  we  through  the  sense  doe 

straine; 
That  our  short  race  of  life  is  at  an  end, 
Ere  we  the  principles  of  skill  attaine. 

A-];Or  God  (which  to  vainc  ends  hath  nothing  done) 
In  vainc  this  appetite  and  power  hath  giuen ; 
Or  else  our  knowledge,  which  is  here  begun, 
Hereafter  must  bee  perfected  in  heauen. 

T^ylGod  neuer  gauc  z.  power  to  one  whole  kind, 

But  most  part  of  that  kind  did  vse  the  same; 
Most  eies  haue  perfect  sight,  though  some  be 

blind; 
Most  legs    can    nimbly   run,   though  some   be 

lame: 


Oj  the  Soule  of  Man  289 

H^"^  But  in  this  lifo*no  sou/e  the  truth  can  know 
So  pcrfcctl)',  as  it  hath  power  to  doe; 
If  then  perfection  be  not  found  below,  I 

An  higher  place  must  make  her  mount  thereto. 

Reason  II 
Drawn  from  the  Motion  of  the  Soule 


i/ 


vfi     A   GAINE  how  can  shee  but  immortall  bee? 
•^  ^     When  with  the  motions  of  both  Will  and 
Wit, 
She  still  aspireth  to  eternitie, 
And  neuer  rests,  till  she  attaine  to  it? 

IM  Water  in  conduit  pipes,  can  rise  no  higher 

Then  the  wel-head,  from  whence  it   first  doth 

spring: 
Then  sith  to  eternall  GOD  shee  doth  aspire, 
Shee  cannot  be  but  an  eternall  thing. 

-j^j  "  All  mouing  things  to  other  things  doe  moue, 

"  Of  the  same  kind,  which  shews  their  nature 

such ; 
So  earth  falls  downe  and_/?/'^  doth  mount  aboue, 
Till  both  their  proper  elements  doe  touch. 

«9 


2go  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

^  The  Soul  compared  to  a  Riuer 

jOi  And  as  the  moysture,  which  the  thirstie  earth 
Suckes  from  the  sea,  to  fill  her  emptie  veines, 
From    out    her   wombe    at    last    doth   take   a 

birth, 
And  runs  a  Nymph  along  the  grassie  plaines: 

^      Long  doth  shce  stay,  as  loth  to  ler\ue  the  land, 

From  whose  soft  side  she  first  did  issue  make;  ■ 
Shce  tastes  all  places,  turnes  to  eucry  hand, 
Her  flowry  bankes  vnwilling  to  forsake : 

)»)   Yet  Nature  so  her  streames  doth  lead  and  carry. 
As  that  her  course  doth  make  no  finall  stay. 
Till  she  her  scifc  vnto  the  Ocean  marry, 
Within  whose  watry  bosomc  first  she  lay: 

•jo^  Euen  so  the  Soiile  which  in  this  earthly  mold 
The  Spirit  of  Gcd  doth  secretly  infuse; 
Because  at  first  she  doth  the  earth  behold, 
And  onely  this  materiall  world  she  viewes: 

|-^»<  At  first  her  mother-earth  she  holdeth  dcare, 

And  doth  embrace  the  world  and  worldly  things: 
She  flics  close  by  the  ground,  and  houers  here, 
And  mounts  nut  vp  with  her  cclcstiall  wings. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  291 

V.4   Yet  vnder  hcaucn  she  cannot  light  on  ought 
That  with  her  hcauenly  nature  doth  agree ; 
She  cannot  rest,  she  cannot  fix  her  thought, 
She  cannot  in  this  world  contented  bee: 

>)  For  who  did  euer  yet,  in  honour,  wealth, 

^Ox  pleasure  of  the  sense,  contentment  find? 
Who  euer  ceasd  to  wish,  when  he  had  health  t 
Or  hauing  wisedome  was  not  vext  in  mind? 

y  ^     Then  as  a  bee  which  among  weeds  doth  fall, 

Which  seeme  sweet  flowers,  with  lustre  fresh  and 

gay ; 
She  lights  on  that,  and  this,  and  tasteth  all, 
But  pleasd  with  none,  doth  rise,  and  soare  away; 

>]      So,  when  the  Soule  finds  here  no  true  content. 

And,  like  Noah's  doue, can  no  sure  footing  take; 
She  doth  rcturne  from  whence  she  first  was  sent, 
And  flies  to  Hitn  that  first  her  wings  did  make. 

>^    Wit,  seeking  Truth,  from  cause  to  cause  ascends, 
And  neuer  rests,  till  it  X)i\c  first  attaine: 
Will,  seeking  Good,  finds  many  middle  ends. 
But  neuer  stayes,  till  it  the  last  doe  gaine. 

•^n    Now  God,  the  Truth,  and  First  of  Causes  is : 

God  is  the  Last  Good  End,  which  lasteth  still; 
Being  Alpha  and  Omega  nam'd  for  this; 
Alpha  to  Wit,  Omega  to  the  Will. 


rt^i  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

71 V  Sith  then  her  heauenly  kind  shee  doth  bewray, 
In  that  to  God  she  doth  directly  moue; 
And  on  no  niortall  thing  can  make  her  stay, 
She  cannot  be  from  hence,  but  from  aboue. 

]f  ^  And  yet  this  First  True  Cause,  and  Last  Good  End, 
Shoe  cannot  hcere  so  well,  and  truely  see ; 
For  this  perfection  shee  must  yet  attend, 
Till  to  her  Maker  shee  espoused  bee. 

"^j^'As  a  king's  daughter,  being  in  person  sought 
Of  diuers  princes,  who  doe  neighbour  neere ; 
On  none  of  them  can  fixe  a  constant  thought, 
Though  shee  to  all  doe  lend  a  gentle  eare: 

l*^Yct  she  can  loue  a  forrainc  eviperour. 

Whom  of  great  worth  and  power  she  heares  to  be ; 
If  she  be  woo'd  but  by  cuibassadour, 
Or  but  his  letters,  or  his  pictures  see: 

"if.  For  well  she  knowes,  that  when  she  shalbe  brought 
Into  the  kiugdome  where  her  Spouse  doth  raigne  ; 
Her  eyes  shall  see  what  she  conceiu'd  in  thought, 
Ilimsclfc,  his  state,  his  glory,  and  his  traine. 

ijll  So  while  the  virgin  Sou/e  on  Earth  doth  stay, 

She  woo'd  and  tempted  is  ten  thousand  wayes, 
By  these  great  powers,  which  on  the  Earth  bcare 

sway ; 
The  wisdom  of  the  World,  wealth,  pleasure ^ praise: 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  5pj 

iW'With  these  sometime  she  doth  her  time  beguile, 
These  doe  by  fits  her  Fantasic  possesse ; 
But  she  distastes  them  all  within  a  while, 
And  in  the  sweetest  finds  a  tediousnesse. 

^•*1  But  if  upon  the  World's  Almighty  King 

She  once  doe  fixe  her  humble  louing  thought; 
Who  by  His  picture,  drawne  in  euery  thing, 
And  sacred  messages y  her  lone  hath  sought; 

3>.o  Of  Him  she  thinks,  she  cannot  thinke  too  much; 
This  hony  tasted  still,  is  euer  sweet; 
The  pleasure  of  her  rauisht  thought  is  such, 
As    almost    here,    she    with    her    blisse    doth 
meet: 

jvt  But  when  in  Heauen  she  shall  His  Essence  see. 
This  is  her  soucraigne  good,  and  perfect  blisse: 
Her  longings,  wishings,  hopes  all  finisht  be. 
Her  ioyes  are  full,  her  motions  rest  in  this: 

vv  There  is  she  crownd  with  garlands  of  content, 

There  doth  she  manna  eat,  and  nectar  drinke; 
That  Presence  doth  such  high  delights  present. 
As  neuer  tongue  could  speake,  nor  heart  could 
thinke. 


2g4  Philosophy  in  Poetry 


Reason  III 


From  Contempt  of  Death  in  the  better 
Sort  of  Spirits 

>•>  "p^-^  ^'''^  the  better  Sou/es  doe  oft  despise 
The  bodie's  death,  and  doe  it  oft  desire; 
For  when  on  ground,  the  burdened  ballance  lies 
The  emptie  part  is  lifted  vp  the  higher: 

Ml  But  if  the  bodie's  death  the  sou/e  should  kill, 

Then  death  must  needs  against  her  nature  bee; 
And  were  it  so,  all  souks  would  flie  it  still, 
"  For  Nature  hates  and  shunnes  her  contrary. 

^4'  For  all  things  else,  which  Nature  makes  to  bee, 
Their  hei)ig  to  prcscrue,  are  chiefly  taught; 
And  though  some  things  desire  a  change  to  see, 
Yet  neuer  thing  did  long  to  turne  to  naught. 

'\l_^  If  then  by  death  the  soitle  were  quenched  quite, 
She  could  not  thus  against  her  nature  runne; 
Since  euery  senselesse  thing,  by  Nature's  light. 
Doth  preservation  secke,  destruction  shunne. 

-i-^  Nor  could  the  World's  best  spirits  so  much  erre, 
If  death  tookc  all  —  that  they  should  all  agree. 
Before  this  life,  their  honour  to  preferre ; 
For  what  is  praise  to  things  that  nothing  bee? 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  29$ 

J}?*- Agalne,  if  by  the  bodie's  prop  she  stand; 
If  on  the  bodie's  Ufe,  her  life  depend; 
As  Melcager's  on  the  fatall  brand,  — 
The  bodie's  good  shee  onely  would  intend : 

3/rWe  should  not  find  her  half  so  braue  and  bold, 
To  leade  it  to  the  Warres  and  to  the  seas ; 
To  make  it  suffer  watchings,  hunger,  cold. 
When    it    might    feed    with    plenty,    rest    with 
case. 

3y>  Doubtlcsse  all  Soules  have  a  suruiuing  thought; 

Therefore  of  death  we  thinke  with  quiet  mind ; 
/  But  if  we  thinke  of  being  turtid  to  nought, 

A  trembling  horror  in  our  soules  we  find. 


Reason  IV 

From  the  Feare  of  Death  in  the  Wicked 
Soules 

\y  A  ND  as  the  better  spirit,  when  shee  doth  beare 
•*  A  scorne  of  death,  doth  shew  she  cannot 

die ; 
So  when  the  wicked    Soufe  Death's  face  doth 

feare, 
Euen  then  she  proues  her  owne  eternitie. 


2g6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

i,'  For  when  Death's  forme  appeares,  she  feareth  not 
An  vtter  quenching  or  extinguishment; 
She  would  be  glad  to  meet  with  such  a  lot, 
That  so  she  might  all  future  ill  preuent: 

iy}  But  shea  doth  doubt  what  after  may  befall; 
For  Nature's  law  accuscth  her  within; 
And  saith,  'Tis  true  that  is  afiirm'd  by  all, 
That  after  death  there  is  a  paiiie  for  sin. 

•>\j^Thcn  she  which  hath  bin  hud-winkt  from  hpr  birth, 
Doth  first  her  sclfc  within  Death's  mirror  see ; 
And  when  her  body  doth  returne  to  earth, 
She  first  takes  care,  how  she  alone  shall  bee. 

^V  Who  eucr  sees  these  irreligious  men, 

With  burthen  of  a  sicknesse  weake  and  faint; 
But  hcarcs  them  talking  of  Religion  then. 
And  vowing  of  their  soiilcs  to  euery  saint? 

^•^**  When  was  there  eucr  curs6d  atheist  brought 
Vnto  \.\\c  gibbet,  but  he  did  adore 
That  blessed  Power,  which  he  had  set  at  nought, 
Scorn'd  and  blasphemed  all  his  life  before? 

J*!^  These  light  vaine  persone  still  are  drunke  and  mad. 
With  surfcttings  and  pleasures  of  their  youth; 
But  at  their  deaths  they  are  fresh,  sober,  sad ; 
Then  they  disccrne,  and  then  they  spcake  the 
truth. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  2^^ 

y^  If  then  all  SonUs,  both  good  and  bad,  doe  teach, 
With  gcncrall  voice,  that  soules  can  neuer  die ; 
Tis   not    man's  flattering  glosse,  but  Nature's 

speech. 
Which,  like  Goifs  Oracle,  can  neuer  lie. 

Reason  V 

From  the  generall  Desire  of  Immortalitie 

^ijS   T  TENCE  springs  that  vniuersall  strong  desire, 
^  ■*■     Which  all  men  haue  of  Immortalitie: 
Not  some  few  spirits  vnto  this  thought  aspire, 
But  all  mens'  minds  in  this  vnited  be. 

jvta    Then  this  desire  of  Nature  is  not  vaine, 
"  She  couets  not  impossibilities; 
"  Fond  thoughts  may  fall  into  some  idle  braine, 
"  But  one  nssetit  of  all,  is  euer  wise. 

^      From  hence  that  generall  care  and  study  springs, 
That  launcJiing  ^x\^  progression  of  the  mind  ; 
Which  all  men  haue  so  much,  of  future  things, 
That  they  no  ioy  doe  in  the  present  find. 

w|.    From  this  desire,  that  maine  desire  proceeds, 

Which  all  men  haue  suruiuing  Fame  to  gaine; 
By  tombcs,  by  bookes,  by  memorable  deeds : 
For  she  that  this  desires,  doth  still  remaine. 


298  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

,^i  Hence  lastly,  springs  care  of  posterities, 

For  things  their  kind  would  eucrlasting  make; 
Hence  is  it  that  old  men  do  plant  young  trees, 
The  fruit  whereof  another  age  shall  take. 

•^     If  we  these  rules  vnto  our  selues  apply, 

And  view  them  by  reflection  of  the  mind ; 

All  these  true  notes  of  immortalitie 

In  our  hearts  tables  we  shall  written  find. 

Reason  VI 

From  the  very  Doubt  and  Disputation  of 
Immortalitie 

vie  A  ND  though  some  impious  wits  do  questions 
■^^     moue, 

And  doubt  if  Soulcs  immortall  be,  or  no  ; 
That  doubt  their  immortaliiie  doth  proue, 
Because  they  seemc  immortall  things  to  know. 

li^  For  he  which  reasons  on  both  parts  doth  bring, 

Doth  some  things  mortall,  some  immortall  call; 
Now,  if  himsclfc  were  but  a  mortall  thing, 
He  could  not  iudgc  immortall  things  at  all. 

\^  For  when  we  iudge,  our  minds  we  mirrors  make: 
And  as  those  glasses  which  material!  bee, 
Formes  of  matcriall  things  doc  onely  take, 
For  thoughts  or  minds  in  them  we  cannot  see; 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  299 

if  i'  So,  when  we  God  and  angels  do  conceiue, 
And  thinke  of  truth,  which  is  eternall  too ; 
Then  doe  our  minds  immortall  formes  receiue, 
Which    if  they   morcall   were,   they   could   not 
doo :  • 

^4?  And  as,  if  beasts  conceiu'd  what  Reason  were, 
And  that  conception  should  distinctly  show, 
They  should  the  name  of  reasonable  beare ; 
For  without  Reason,  none  could  Reason  know: 

^^   So,  when  the  Soule  mounts  with  so  high  a  wing. 
As  of  eternall  things  she  doubts  can  moue ; 
Shee  proofes  of  her  eternitie  doth  bring, 
Euen  when  she  striues  the  contrary  to  proue. 

3^    For  euen  the  thought  of  immortalitie, 

Being  an  act  done  without  the  bodie's  ayde; 
Shewes,  that   her  sclfe  alone   could  moue  and 

bee, 
Although  the  body  in  the  graue  were  layde. 

c^  That  the  Soule  cannot  be  destroyed 

7^-*.    A   ND  if  her  selfe  she  can  so  liuely  moue, 
"^  -^     And  neucr  need  a  forrainc  helpe  to  take; 

Then  must  her  motion  euerlasUng  proue, 
**  Because  her  sclfe  she  ncuer  can  forsake. 


yx)  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

V-Her  Cause  ceaseth  not 

j)  But  though  corruption  cannot  touch  the  minde» 
By  any  cause  that  from  it  sclfe  may  spring ; 
Some   outward   cause    Fate    hath   perhaps   de- 

signd, 
Which  to  the  Soule  may  vtter  quenching  bring. 


c.  She  hath  no  Contrary 

^^g^  Perhaps  her  cause  may  cease,  and  she  may  die; 
God  is  her  cause.  His  Wordh^r  Maker  was; 
Which  shall  stand  fixt  for  all  eternitie 
When  Heauen  and   Earth  shall   like  a  shadow 
passe. 

■jsPerhaps  some  thing  repugnant  to  her  kind, 
By  strong  antipathy ^  the  Soule  may  kill; 
But  what  can  be  contrary  to  the  minde, 
Which  holds  all  contraries  in  concord  still? 

^'^'She  lod^eth  heat,  and  cold,  and  moist,  and  dry, 
And   life,  and  death,  and    peace,   and    war  to- 
gether ; 
Ten  thousand  fighting  things  in  ht-r  doe  lye, 
Yet  neither  troublcth,  or  disturbeth  cither. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  ^oi 

(A  Shee  cannot  Die  for  want  of  Food 

3^7  Perhaps  for  want  of  food  the  soule  may  pine; 

But  that  were  strange,  sith  all  things  bad  and 

good, 
Sith  all  God's  creature's  mortal  I  zviA  diuitie, 
Sith  God  Himself c,  is  her  eternall  food. 

■)f^     Bodies  are  fed  with  things  of  mortall  kind, 
And  so  are  subiect  to  mortalitie; 
But  Truth  which  is  eternall,  feeds  the  mind; 
The  7ree  of  life,  which  will  not  let  her  die. 

s.    Violence  cannot  destroy  her 

3^')    Yet  violence,  perhaps  the  Soule  destroyes: 

As  lightning,  or  the  suji-ieavies  dim  the  sight; 
Or  as  a  thunder-clap,  or  cannons'  noyse, 
The  power  of  hearing  doth  astonish  quite, 

,(a   But  high  perfection  to  the  Soule  it  brings, 

T'  encounter  things  most  excellent  and  high ; 
For,  when  she  views  the  best  and  greatest  things 
They  do  not  hurt,  but  rather  cleare  her  eye, 

,,   Besides,  —  as  Homer's  gods  'gainst  armies  stand, — 
Her  subtill  forme  can  through  all  dangers  slide ; 
Bodies  are  captiue,  minds  endure  no  band, 
"And  Will  is  free,  and  can  no  force  abide. 


}02  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

^  Time  cannot  destroy  her 

ij-v  But  lastly,  Time  perhaps  at  last  hath  power 

To  spend  her  liuely  powers,  and  quench  her 

light; 
But  old  god  Saturne  which  doth  all  deuoure, 
Doth  cherish  her,  and  still  augment  her  might. 

^t^  Heaucn  waxcth  old,  and  all  the  sf /teres  aboue 

Shall  one  day  faint,  and  their  swift  motion  stay; 
And  Time  it  selfe  in  time  shall  cease  to  moue; 
Onely  the  Sonle  surnives,  and  Hues  for  aye. 

'  ,%i**  Our  Bodies,  euery  footstep  that  they  make, 

"  March  towards  death,  vntill  at  last  they  die; 
"  Whether  we  worke,  or  play,  or  sleepe,  or  wake, 
'*  Our  life  doth  passe,  and  with  Timers  wings  doth 
flic : 

':i'»  But  to  the  Soufe  Time  doth  perfection  giue, 
And  ads  fresh  lustre  to  her  beauty  still ; 
And  makes  her  in  eternall  youth  to  Hue, 
Like  her  which  nectar  to  the  gods  doth  fill. 

.1    The  more  she  Hues,  the  more  she  feeds  on  Truth; 
The  more  she  feeds,  her  strength  doth  more  in- 
crease : 
And  what  is  strength,  but  an  effect  oi youth? 
Which  if  Time  nurse,  how  can  it  euer  cease? 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  joj 

/{  Objections  against  the  Immortalitie  of 
THE  Soule 

^*^  TJ  ^T'  now  these  Epicures  begin  to  smile, 

"^     And   say,  my  doctrine  is  more  false  then 
true; 
And  that  I  fondly  doe  my  selfe  beguile, 
While  these  recciu'd  opinions  I  ensue. 

Objection  I 


'^  "ITOR  what,  say  they,  doth  not  the  So!//e  waxe  old  ? 
"*■       I  'o\v  comes  it  then  that  ag6d  men  doe  dote; 
And  that  their  braines  grow  sottish,  dull  and  cold, 
Which  were  in  youth  the  onely  spirits  of  note? 

^'«|  What?  arc  not  5^?///^^  within  themsclues  corrupted? 
How  can  there  idiots  then  by  nature  bee? 
How  is  it  that  some  wits  are  interrupted. 
That  now  they  dazeled  are,  now  clearely  see? 


yT 


Answere 

HESE  questions  make  a  subtill  argument, 
To  such  as  thinkc  both  sense  and  reason  one ; 
To  whom  nor  agent,  from  the  instrument. 
Nor  power  of  working,  from  the  work  is  known. 


^4  Philosophy  in  Poetrv 

<^    IJut  they  that  knew  that  wit  can  shew  no  skill, 

But  when  she  things  in  Sense's glasse  doth  view; 
Doe  know,  if  accider.t  this  glasse  doe  spill, 
It  nothing  sees,  or  sees  the  false  for  true. 

>*vFor,  if  that  region  of  the  tender  braine. 

Where  th'  inward  sense  of  Fantasie  should  sit. 
And  the  outward  senses  gatherings  should  retain, 
IJy  Nature,  or  by  chance,  become  vnfit; 

"■^\  Either  at  first  vncapable  it  is. 

And  so  few  things,  or  none  at  all  receiues; 
Or  mard  by  accident,  which  haps  amisse 
And  so  amisse  it  euery  thing  perceiues. 

'vk>^  Then,  as  a  cunning  prince  that  vscth  spvcs, 

If  they  rcturne  no  newes  doth  nothing  know; 
But  if  they  make  aduertisement  of  lies, 
The  Prince's  Counsel  all  awry  doe  goe. 

"V^^  Euen  so  the  Sottle  to  such  a  body  knit. 
Whose  inward  senses  vndisposed  be, 
And  to  receiue  the  formes  of  things  vnfit; 
Where  nothing  is  brought  in,  can  nothing  see. 

^*^^This  makes  the  idiot,  which  hath  yet  a  mind. 
Able  to  know  the  truth,  and  chuse  the  good ; 
If  she  such  figures  in  the  braine  did  find, 
As  might  be  found,  if  it  in  temper  stood. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  )o^ 

?*^But  \i  z phrensie  doe  possesse  the  braine, 

It  so  disturbs  and  blots  the  formes  of  things; 
As  Fantasie  prooues  altogether  vaine, 
And  to  the  Wit  no  true  relation  brings. 

^    Then  doth  the  Wit,  admitting  all  for  true, 

Build  fond  conclusions  on  those  idle  grounds; 
Then  doth  it  flie  the  good,  and  ill  pursue, 
Beleeuing  all  that  this  false  spie  propounds. 

"^V  But  purge  the  humors,  and  the  rage  appease, 
Which  this  distemper  in  the  fansie  wrought; 
Then  shall  the  Wit,  which  never  had  disease, 
Discourse,  and  iudge  discreetly,  as  it  ought. 

'  So,  though  the  clouds  eclipse  the  sunne's  faire  light, 
Yet  from  his  face  they  doe  not  take  one  beame; 
So  haue  our  eyes  their  perfect  power  of  sight, 
Euen  when  they  looke  into  a  troubled  streame. 

^^  Then  these  defects  in  Senses'  organs  bee. 
Not  in  the  soule  or  in  her  working  might; 
She  cannot  lose  her  perfect  power  to  see, 
Thogh  mists  and  clouds  do  choke  her  window 
light. 

Thee  imperfections  then  we  must  impute, 
Not  to  the  agent  but  the  instrument; 
We  must  not  blame  Apollo,  but  his  lute, 
If  false  accords  from  her  false  strings  be  sent. 


^o6  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

It")  The  Soiile  in  all  hath  one  intelligence; 

Though  too  much  moisture  in  an  infant's  braine, 
And  too  much  drinesse  in  an  old  man's  sense, 
Cannot  the  prints  of  outward  things  retaine: 

^if  Then  doth  the  Soiilc  want  worke,  and  idle  sit, 
And  this  we  childishnesse  and  dotage  call ; 
Yet  hath  she  then  a  quicke  and  actiue  Wit, 
If  she  had  stufife  and  tooles  to  worke  withall: 

i^^^For,  giue  her  organs  fit,  and  obiects  faire; 

Giue  but  the  aged  man,  the  young  man's  sense; 

Let  but  Medea,  Aison's  youth  repaire, 

And  straight  she  shewes  her  wonted  excellence. 

,»iAs  a  good  harper  stricken  farrc  in  yearcs, 
Into  whose  cunning  hand  the  gowt  is  fall ; 
All  his  old  crotchets  in  his  braine  he  bcares, 
But  on  his  harpe  playes  ill,  or  not  at  all. 

^>,ABut  \{  Apollo  takes  his  gowt  away, 

That  hec  his  nimble  fingers  may  apply; 

Apollo's  sclfc  will  enuy  at  his  play, 

And  all  the  world  applaud  his  minstralsie. 

V^Thcn  dotage  is  no  weaknesse  of  the  mind, 

But  of  the  Sense;  for  if  the  mind  did  waste, 
In  all  old  men  we  should  this  wasting  find. 
When  they  some  certaine  terme  of  yercs  had 
past: 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  yyy 

2,^1  But  most  of  them,  euen  to  their  dying  howre, 

Retaine    a     mind     more     huely,    quicke,    and 

strong; 
And  better  vse  their  vnderstanding  power, 
Then  when  their  braines  were  warm,  and  lims 

were  yong. 

'aj   For,  though  the  body  wasted  be  and  weake, 

And    though    the    leaden    forme    of   earth    it 

beares ; 
Yet  when  we  heare  that  halfc-dead  body  speake, 
We  oft  are  rauisht  to  the  heauenly  sphearcs. 


Objection  II 

\| I    "\7^ET  say  these  men,  If  all  her  organs  die, 

Then  hath  the  sonic  no  power  her  powers  to 
vse; 
So,  in  a  sort,  her  powers  extinct  doe  lie, 
When  vnto  act  shee  cannot  them  reduce. 

^m  And  if  her  powers  be  dead,  then  what  is  shee? 

For   sith    from    euery    thing   some    powers   do 

spring, 
And  from  those  powers,  some  acts  proceeding 

bee, 
Then  kill  both  power  and  act^  and  kill  the  thing. 


^o8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Answere 

j^^  Y\OUBTLESSEi\iQ  bodie's  death  when  once  it 
"^"^     dies, 
The  instruments  of  sense  and  h'fe  doth  kill; 
So  that  she  cannot  vse  those  facuhies, 
Although  their  -oot  rest  in  her  substance  still. 

^jj^But  (as  the  body  liuing)  Wit  and  Will 

Can  iitiigc  and  c/iusc,  without  the  bodie's  ayde; 
Though  on  such  objects  they  are  working  still. 
As  through  the  bodie's  organs  are  conuayde : 

-,ft  So,  when  the  body  scrues  her  turne  no  more, 
And  all  her  Senses  are  extinct  and  gone, 
She  can  discourse  of  what  she  learn'd  before, 
In  hcauenly  contemplations,  all  alone. 

"^fc^So,  if  one  man  well  on  a  lute  doth  play, 

And  haue  good  horsemanship,  and  Learning's 

skill ; 
Though  both  his  lute  and  horse  we  take  away. 
Doth  he  not  keep  his  former  learning  still? 

?i*\»He  keepcs  it  doubtlesse,  and  can  vse  it  to[o] ; 

And  doth  both  th'  other  skils  in  power  retaine ; 
And  can  of  both  the  proper  actions  doe, 
If  with  his  lute  or  horse  he  meet  againe. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  ^og 

'^^•So  (though  the  instruments  by  which  we  liuc, 

And   view   the    world,  the    bodie's   death   doe 

kill;) 
Yet  with  the  body  they  shall  all  reuiue, 
And  all  their  wonted  offices  fulfill. 


'"B 


Objection  III 

UT  how,  till  then,  shall  she  herselfe  imploy? 
Her   spies  are  dead  which   brought  home 
newes  before ; 
What  she  hath  got  and  keepes,  she  may  enicy, 
But  she  hath  meanes  to  vnderstand  no  more. 


^^a  Then  what  do  those  poore  soules,\vh\ch.  nothing 
get? 
Or  what  doe  those  which  get,  and  cannot  keepe? 
Like  buckets  bottomlesse,  which  all  out-let 
Those  Soules,  for  want  of  exercise,  must  sleepe. 

Answere 

H«  I  ^EE    how    man's    Soule  against   it    selfe    doth 
striue: 
Why  should  we  not  haue  other  meanes  to  know? 
As  children  while  within  the  wombe  they  Hue, 
Feed  by  the  nauill:  here  they  feed  not  so. 


^/o  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

^, ,   These  children,  if  they  had  some  vse  of  sense, 

And  should    by  chance   their   mothers'  talking 

hcare ; 
That  in  short  time  they  shall  come  forth  from 

thence, 
Would  feare  their  birth  more  then  our  death  we 

fcare. 

^.^  They  would    cry  out,  '  If  wc  this    place    shall 
loaiic. 
Then  shall  we  brcake  our  tender  nauill  strings; 
\  How  shall  we  then  our  nourishment  receiue, 

Sith  our  sweet  food  no  other  conduit  brings?' 

.  And  if  a  man  should  to  these  babes  reply, 

That  into  this  faire  world  they  shall  be  brought; 
Where  they  shall   see  the  Earth,  the    Sea,  the 

Skie, 
The    glorious    Sun,    and    all    that    God    hath 
wrought: 

i\  That  there  ten  thousand  dainties  they  shall  meet, 
Which  by  their  mouthes  they  shall  with  pleasure 
take ; 
I  Which  shall  be  cordiall  too,  as  wcl  as  sweet, 

!  And  of  their  little  limbes,  tall  bodies  make; 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  ^i  i 

tjDuThis  would  they  thinke  a  fable,  euen  as  we 
Doe  thinke  the  slory  of  the  Golden  Age ; 
Or  as  some  sensuall  spirits  amongst  vs  bee, 
Which  hold  the  world  to  come,  a  faititd  stage: 

"!♦?  Yet  shall  these  infants  after  find  all  true, 

Though  then  thereof  they  nothing  could  con- 

cciitc; 
As  soonc  as  they  arc  borne,  the  world  they 

view, 

And  with  their  mouthes,  the    nurses'-milke  re- 
ceiue. 

rtjj.  So,  when  the  Soule  is  borne  (for  Death  is  nought 
But   the    Soule's    birth,   and    so    we    should    it 

call) 
Ten    thousand    things    she    sees    beyond    her 

thought, 
And  in  an  vnknowne  manner  knowes  them  all. 

'JJ^    Then  doth  s'     lee  by  spectacles  no  more, 
She  heares  not  by  report  of  double  spies; 
Her  selfe  in  instants  doth  all  things  explore. 
For  each  thing  present,  and  before  her,  lies. 


^12  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

Objection  IV 

tf*   XyUT stiil  this  crue  with  questions  me  pursues: 
If   sou'es    deceas'd    (say   they)    still   liuing 
bee; 
Why  do  they  not  return,  to  bring  vs  newes 
Of  that  strange  world,  where  they  such  wonders 
see? 


it/JT 


Answere 

OND  men  /  If  we  beleeue  that  men  doe  Hue 
Vnder  the  Zenith  of  both  frozen  Poles, 
Though   none    come    thence   aduertisement   to 

giue; 
Why  bcare  we  not  the  like  faith  of  our  soulesf 

^r'The  soulc  hath  here  on  Earth  no  more  to  doe, 

Then  we  haue  busincsse  in  our  mother's  wombe ; 
■  What  child  doth  couet  to  returne  thereto? 

I        Although  all  children  first  from  thence  do  come? 

I         ' 

j ,  -  But  as  A^oa/i's  pidgeon,  which  rcturn'd  no  more, 
!  Did  shew,  she  footing  found,  for  all  the  Flood ; 

So  when  good  soules,  departed  through  Death's 
dore, 

Come  not  againe,  it  shewes  their  dwelling  good. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  5/^ 

•^^  'And  doubtlesse,  such  a  soule  as  vp  doth  mount, 
And  doth  appeare  before  her  Maker's  Face; 
Holds  this  vile  world  in  such  a  base  account, 
As  she   looks  down,  and  scorns  thia  wretched 
place. 

V^T  But  such  as  are  detruded  downe  to  He 

Either  for  shame,  they  still  themselues  retire-, 
Or  tyed  in  chaines,  they  in  close  prison  dwell, 
And  cannot  come,  although  they  much  desire. 

Objection  V 

^^  "X^T ELL,  well,  say  these  vaine  spirits,  though 
vaine  it  is 
To   thinke   our   Soules  to  Heauen  or   Hell  to 

goe. 
Poll  tike  men  haue  thought  it  not  amisse. 
To  spread  this  lye,  to  make  men  vertuous  so. 


Answere 

^Y]  "T^OE you  then  thinke  this  morall  vertue  good? 
^^     I  thinke  you  doe,  euen  for  your   priuate 
galne; 
For  Common-wealths  by  vertue  euer  stood, 
And  common  good  the  priuate  doth  conta.ne. 


^14  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

fl<  If  then  this  verlue  you  doe  loue  so  well, 

Haue   you   no   meanes,  her   practise   to   main- 

taine; 
But  you  this  lye  must  to  the  people  tell, 
That  good  Soulcs  Hue  in  ioy,  and  ill  in  paine? 

vj(|^  Must  vertue  be  preseru6d  by  a  lye  ? 

Vertuc  and  Truth  do  euer  best  agree ; 
By  this  it  seemes  to  be  a  veritie, 
Sith  the  effects  so  good  and  vertuous  bee. 


V 


For,  as  the  deuill  father  is  of  lies, 

So  vice  and  mischiefe  doe  his  lyes  ensue; 
Then  this  good  doctrine  did  not  he  deuise, 
But  made  this  lye,  which  saith  it  is  not  true. 

^The  Generall  Consent  of  All 

"T^OR  how  can  that  be  false,  which  euery  tongue 
Of  cucry  mortall  man  affirmes  for  true? 
Which  truth  hath  in  all  ages  been  so  strong, 
As  lodcbtonc-likc,  all  hearts  it  euer  drew. 


^v  For,  not  the  Christian,  or  the  lew  alone, 

The  Persian,  or  the  T2irke,  acknowledge  this; 
This  mysterie  to  the  wild  Indian  knowne, 
And  to  the  Canniball  and  Tartar  is. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  ^75 

Vi)  This  rich  Assyrian  drugge  growes  euery  where; 
As  common  in  the  North,  as  in  the  East; 
This  doctrine  does  not  enter  by  the  eare^ 
But  of  it  selfc  is  natiue  in  the  breast. 

^^  None  that  acknowledge  God,  or  prouidence, 
Their  Soule's  eternitie  did  euer  doubt; 
For  all  Religion  takes  her  root  from  hence, 
Which  no  poore  naked  nation  liues  without. 

^  '  For  sith  the  World  for  Man  created  was, 

(For  onely  Man  the  vse  thereof  doth  know) 
If  man  doe  perish  like  a  withered  grassc, 
How  doth  God's  Wisedom  order  things  below? 

^W  And  if  that  Wisedom  still  wise  ends  propound, 
Why  made  He  man,  of  other  creatures  King? 
When  (if  he  perish  here)  there  is  not  found 
In  all  the  world  so  poor  and  vile  a  thing? 

^"7  If   death    do    quench   vs   quite,   we   haue    great 
wrong, 
Sith  for  our  seruice  all  things  else  were  wrought; 
J    That  dawes,  and  trees,  and  rocks,  should  last  so 
long. 
When  we  must  in  an  instant  passe  to  nought. 


?.■'♦  Philosophy  in  Poetry 

^  '   B       blest    be  that    Great  Prver,  that    hath    V9 
blest 
With  longer  life  then  Heauen  or  Earth  can  haue; 
Which  hath  infus'd  into  our  mortall  breast 
Immortall  powers,  not  subiect  to  the  graue. 

N)r  For  though   the   Soule  doe  sceme  her  graue  to 
beare, 
And  in  this  world  is  almost  buried  quick; 
We  haue  no  cause  the  bodie's  death  to  feare, 
—  For    when    the    shell   is   broke,   out    comes  a 
chick. 

T  Three  Kinds  of  Life  answerable  to  the 
THREE  Powers  of  the  Soule 

^^  YjOR  as  the  soule' s  essentiall  powers  are  three, 

The  qitickning power,  the  power  of  sense  and 
reason  ; 
Three  kinds  of  life  to  her  designed  bee, 
Which  perfect  these  three  powers  in  their  due 
season. 

l-J    The  first  life,  in  the  mother's  wombe  is  spent. 

Where  she  her  nursing  power  doth  onely  vse ; 
Where,  when  she  finds  defect  of  nourishment, 
Sh*  expels  her  body,  and  this  world  she  viewes. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  ^ly 

"^^  This  we  call  Birth;  but  if  the  child  could  speake, 
He  Death  would  call  it ;  and  of  Nature  plaine, 
That  she  would  thrust  him  out  naked  and  weake, 
And  in  his  passage  pinch  him  with  such  paine. 

^>)  Yet,  out  he  comes,  and  in  this  world  is  plac't, 
Where  all  his  Scuses  in  perfection  bee ; 
Where  he  finds  flowers  to  smell,  and   fruits  to 

taste ; 
And  sounds  to  heare,  and  sundry  formes  to  see. 

\\   When  he  hath  past  some  time  vpon  this  stage, 
His  Reason  then  a  little  seemes  to  wake; 
Which,  thogh  she  spring,  when  sense  doth  fade 

with  age, 
Yet  can  she  here  no  perfect  practise  make. 

K»' Then  doth  th'  aspiring  Soule  the  body  leaue. 

Which  we  call  Death;  but  were  it  knowne  to  all, 
What  life  our  soules  do  by  this  death  receiue, 
Men  would  it  birth  ox  gaol e  deliiiery  call. 

t\j  In  this  third  life,  Reason  will  be  so  bright. 

As   that   her  sparke   will    like    the   sun-beamet 

shine; 
And  shall  of  God  enioy  the  reall  sight. 
Being  still  increasl  by  influence  diuine. 


^i8  Philosophy  in  Poetry 


>)0 


\)  An  Acclamation 

IGNORANT   poor   man !    what    dost   thou 
beare 

Lockt  vp  within  the  casket  of  thy  brest? 
What  icwels,  and  what  riches  hast  thou  there ! 
What  heauenly  treasure  in  so  weake  a  chest ! 

iS   Looke  in  thy  soule,  and  thou  shalt  beauties  find, 
Like  those  which  drownd  Narcissus  in  the  flood : 
Honour  and  Pleasure  both  are  in  thy  mind, 
And  all  that  in  the  world  is  counted  Good. 

\\  Thinke  of  her  worth,  and  think  that  God  did  meane, 
This   worthy    mind    should    worthy   things  im- 

trace; 
Blot  not  her  beauties  with  thy  thoughts  vnclean, 
Nor  her  dishonour  with  thy  passions  base; 

.i\jKill  not  her  qnickuiug power  with  surfeUings, 
Mar  not  her  Sense  with  scnsualitie; 
Cast  not  her  serious  wit  on  idle  things : 
Make  not  her  (vcc-wili,  slaue  to  vanitie. 

i»'  And  when  thou  think'st  of  her  eternitie, 

Thinke  not  that  Death  against  her  nature  is, 
Thinke  it  a  birth;  and  when  thou  gocst  to  die, 
Siiig  like  a  swan,  as  if  thou  wcnt'st  to  blisse. 


Of  the  Soule  of  Man  ^tg 

^^Knd  if  thou,  like  a  child,  didst  feare  before, 

Being  in  the  darke,  where  thou  didst  nothing  see ; 
Now  I  haue   broght   thee   torcJi-light,  feare   no 

more ; 
Now  when  thou  diest,  thou  canst  not  hud-winkt 

be. 

^^>And  thou  my  Soule,  which  turn'st  thy  curious  eye, 
To  view  the  beames  of  thine  owne  forme  diuine ; 
Know,  that  thou  canst  know  nothing  perfectly, 
While  thou  art  clouded  with  this  flesh  of  mine. 

"rr^  Take  heed  o{  ouer-wcening,  and  compare 

Thy  peacock's  feet  with  thy  gay  peacock's  traine ; 
Study  the  best,  and  highest  things  that  are, 
But  of  thy  selfe  an  humble  thought  retaine. 

^'  Cast  downe  thy  selfe,  and  onely  striue  to  raise 
The  glory  of  thy  Maker's  sacred  Name; 
Vse  all  thy  powers,  that  Blessed  Power  to  praise, 
Which    giues   thee    power  to    bee,   and   vse  the 
same, 

FINIS 


-6_ 


ARY 

I'NIVEkblT^  CA"     ^RM 


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